


Dalliance

by Bumocusal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Universe - FBI, Angelic Grace, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Based on real town, Bigotry & Prejudice, Break Up, Break Up Talk, Case Fic, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, First Kiss, First Time, Graceless Castiel, Homoromantic, Hopeful Ending, Kissing, Lake-town, M/M, Mermaids, Mildly Dubious Consent, North Carolina, One Shot, Oral Sex, Post-Break Up, Saving People Hunting Things, Small Towns, Water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-02-20 01:57:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumocusal/pseuds/Bumocusal
Summary: There's a hunt Sam finds that might get them killed, involving "mermaids" and the Great Smoky Mountains.Can they solve it without Castiel's help, which Dean is wary to accept after their last fight?





	Dalliance

**Author's Note:**

> I do feel the need to warn you if you're sensitive to sexuality and asexuality, this fic really explores the word; consent. There's a brief spoiler-filled summary in the endnotes, in case you're hesitant to read. 
> 
> Please press kudos and leave a comment! I'm my happiest when I'm reading a comment, and more inspired to write more.
> 
> EDIT 12/20/18: If you're reading this, I'm currently in the process of editing this work!

 

 

#  The Lakes— Cedar Cliff, Bear Creek, Wolf Creek, and Tanasee Creek

_"Whereby the marishes boometh the bittern,_

Neckar the soulless one sits with his ghittern.

Sits inconsolable, friendless and foeless.

Waiting his destiny - Neckar the soulless"

_—Sebastian Evans, Neckar the soulless_

 

“Are you positive it’s him?” [Henriksen ](https://thewinchesterfamilybusiness.com/images/SeasonThree/JusInBello/vlcsnap-00102.jpg)asks, crossing his arms over his chest, badge hard against his elbow— mocking and annoying him like an itching mosquito bite— rubbing irritatingly to strike a chord for his mistakes. 

The Mortician quirks her mouth, pulling the white sheet back from the remains to reveal the ghostly face and Y-shaped incision scalped body. The distinguishable features, from the slope of the nose to the bow of the lips, makes Henriksen practically shake in his brogues. 

“I’ve never been surer,” Dr. [Roberts ](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/supernatural/images/7/76/Cara.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20110708172836)smiled smugly, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. She runs her hands, blood red nails scraping, down the corpse's chest. “I’ve run blood samples, fingerprints, the whole nine yards.”

Fuzzy relief fills his veins, followed by a flash of worry, “I know you’ve done all that, its procedure. I’m just slightly concerned. I mean, this guy has been dead before, right? More than once if you’ll believe it, Dr. Roberts." 

She looks up from the frigid body, “Call me Cara, Victor.”

“Of course, Cara,” He practically can feel the dead skin accumulating under her claw-like nails.

“Victor,” She pauses, throat bobbing. “My ex-husband, Carl, died without a warning from a heart attack just last month. It was unexpected, and I was taken completely off guard. The dick still kind of meant something to me. We divorced for petty reasons, now that I can look back without blind hatred for the man. I’m willing to bet on his grave that this is your serial killer lying here on my slab.”

“So without a single doubt,” He enunciates his next words carefully, “Dean Winchester is dead.”

She nods, hair cascading like curtains, “Correct. Nice job.”

Walking over, [Valente ](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/supernatural/images/9/99/Valenteslashfiction.png/revision/latest?cb=20120217211347)slow claps with a cheesy grin on his face, “This is the highlight of your career, Henriksen. We finally caught the psychopath. Stabbed to death, unfortunately. But caught none the less.”

“I’m just happy no one else will die by his hand,” Henriksen allows, turning to Valente and patting his shoulder, “And don’t get jealous. There’s still another Winchester out there.”

Valente jerks away disparagingly, “Don’t jinx it, Victor. You might resurrect the bastard.”

“There’s no possible way he’s Jesus-H-Christing this one,” Cara frowns, taking her hand off Dean Winchester’s chalky unpigmented breast.

Valente starts scrolling through his phone, “Winchester coming back from the dead again would be a disaster. Make sure the body is really his. We aren’t making any statements until Cara does dental x-rays and takes mitochondrial DNA.” 

Cara scoffs, lips pursed in frustration, “That’s Dr. Roberts to you, Valente. Besides you think I’m an amateur? I’ve done every test in the book. This asshole is not miraculously coming back to life.”

Valente’s phone dings, lighting up with a soft glow, “Spoke too soon.”

Those three words set everything on fire. They’re like a crushing weight on Henriksen’s chest like all the air is getting pressed out of his lungs, “Excuse me?”

“[Groves ](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/images/9/98/StevenGroves.jpg)just texted me. Apparently, Dean Winchester is sitting in jail a county over for speeding.”

 

“So,” Castiel looked down at his vessels hands, pausing mid-sentence. Jimmy Novak had been one for perfection, fingernails trimmed and buffed with palms barring no callouses. When Castiel had been human, those details had vanished. He looked back at Dean, shoving his balled up fists into his trench coats pockets, “When will I see you again? You and Sam, I mean.” 

Shrugging, “I honestly don’t know, Castiel. If we need you, I’ll give you a call.”

Castiel watched knowingly as Dean bit the side of his lip, dragging it into his mouth and slowly letting it go. He stands impossibly still as Dean scans his body looking for any reaction and when he comes up empty he turns away entirely dejected.

Castiel closes his eyes, squeezing his hands tighter. He wills himself to get attracted, but nothing happens.

“You know I can’t,” Castiel finally reminds, dolefully.

Dean shakes his head, “I’m not going to stop, Castiel. We had something, alright? And just because you became junk-less again doesn’t mean I don’t care for you anymore.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t what?” Dean asks.

“I can’t ask that of you, Dean,” Castiel starts, sighing loudly as he gathers his thoughts, “Angels are [asexual ](http://www.whatisasexuality.com/intro/what-asexuality-slideshow/)creatures, no sexual drive or erections. And whilst I was human, the bigger part of our relationship was erotic. Ever since I’ve gotten my, as you’ve put it, batteries recharged I am unable to engage in any sort of coitus.”

Laughing bitterly, “I don’t give a shit about that. I mean, it sucks that you don’t find me attractive anymore. Bruising my ego a little, but the way I feel for you goes beyond sex.”

“I know you think that way now, but as soon as we enter a relationship this new philosophy is going to change. Dean, I know you. Every one of your molecules was remade by me. The way you love, it’s very physical. I’m trying to save you from the heartbreak, do you understand? This is for the best, not being together. You’ll thank me when you meet someone who can give you all the things you deserve,” His voice tapers off at the end as he explains.

Dean simply presses his lips together, holding them shut like he’s trying not to say something. Before Castiel can stop him, Dean starts walking to the Impala where Sam is waiting. He throws his hand up in a farewell, not bothering to say goodbye. Then, without a backward glance, climbs into the driver's side and drives off.

It's a rainy Tuesday afternoon when Sam barges into his room, forgetting to knock, to announce he’d found them a new case. He instantly groans and rushes back out when he sees Dean’s hand moving under the sheets.

“Knock next time, Sasquatch,” Dean calls after him, then audibly exhales. He drops his hand, not being able to focus on anything except the possible case. It’s in North Carolina, as well. One of the few states that had piqued his interest enough to want to revisit, from the tooth-rotting sweet tea to the friendly "southern hospitality"— Dean was actually not dreading this case. 

He gives in and trails out of his room, not bothering to put on anything but his underwear and drape the dead-guy robe over his shoulders. He follows the sound of banging pots and pans to the kitchen, clutching his heart dramatically.

“Are you actually washing dishes, Sammy?”

His voice makes Sam jump and drops a knife. It disappears into the soapy water and thumps loudly against the bottom of the sink. “I’ll do anything to burn the image of you masturbating from my mind.”

Smirking, Dean sits at the dining table, “Good luck with that. Now, what’s this about a case in [North Carolina](http://www.mapave.com/map_city_in_usa.php?state=NC&city=Cullowhee+City&long=-83.176389&lat=35.313333&width=400&height=270)?”

Drying off his hands and unrolling his flannel sleeves, Sam joins him, “Apparently a local woman got dragged out into a lake but no remains were recovered. An eyewitness swore it was a mermaid.”

“Sounds fishy.”

Sam stands up, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head, “Kill me now, I thought seeing you touch yourself was scarring. Anyway, maybe the Men of Letter’s have information about fish-people. I don’t even know if they’re real or not.”

Dean shrugs, “Who knows? I say we check it out though. Sounds like our type of gig.”

“I’m calling Castiel,” Sam says, going back over to the sink and popping the drain. The water empties slowly, gurgling and sloshing, leaving only silverware in its wake. “Maybe he’ll know something.”

Shaking his head, “No. We shouldn’t bother him, Sammy. Let’s just stick to the information we have here.”

“Dean—” Sam starts, strained.

“I’m going to stop you there,” Dean interrupts, “Castiel is busy doing angelic things. That’s the reason he flies the coop so often and never sticks around. We shouldn’t disturb that. So whatever you were going to say, save it.”

Sam hesitates at the door, “I’m saying this because it’s important, Dean. I don’t know why you’ve been so anti-Castiel these past few weeks, but you need to talk to him about it. I’m sick and tired of it making our jobs harder.”

He watches Sam exit the room, cursing under his breath. Of course, Sam had realized his utter disdain of inviting the angel along. He just wasn’t expecting the Sasquatch to call him on it, repressing the emotional shit was their MO.

Trying to push it all to the back of his mind, Dean attempts to not think about the last time he saw Castiel. The awkward staring that had occurred and even more awkward touching.

If washing dishes helped Sam burn images from his mind, Dean might give it a try.

It meshes through.

The coarse carpet of the motel, thick and deep enough to actually swallow your bare feet in a chasm of yarn-ish texture. The pungent odor of lemon, seeping from every surface and spritzing into the air every time they moved in front of the freshener. Those were the only thing he’d allow himself to remember.

Not the subtle chap to Castiel’s lips or even the wind burn on his cheeks, flushed pink that made him look pliant. He wouldn’t let himself recall the wrinkles in his trench coat, cast across the room into a heap with their other clothes.

Dean carefully got up from his seat, back cracking, “Time to research.”

 

“How in the fuck is this even possible?” Henriksen asks, rubbing his temples in frustration. They’d been on the road for twenty minutes driving to Waynesville where Dean Winchester was sitting in the Haywood County Detention Center. “This man has been dead multiple times, the evidence is fact. The only logical explanation isn’t logical.”

Valente’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, “I don’t want to discuss religious bullshit with you, Victor. Let’s just drop the subject until we actually see Winchester, otherwise, I’m going to pull over this car and question all my beliefs until I go insane.”

“I can’t help it!” Henriksen explodes, “My mind is whirling, it’s like my entire worldview is ruined.”

“Listen, I’m sure there’s a reasonable answer to this,” Velente finally says, brows scrunched and pessimistic, “There always is, Victor. A lot of scientific theories can actually be proved and if not, then evidence can be suggested. The supernatural can’t be your go-to answer for anything you don’t understand.”

Henriksen takes a deep breath, regulating his breathing, “You’re right. I know you’re right. This is just messing me up.”

“You have been chasing these guys for over ten years,” Velente says pityingly, “Maybe you should switch off and let new eyes take the Winchesters. You’ll get into a rut if you stay on the same case for too long.”

Without getting too offended, Henriksen shakes his head, “I don’t think I can do that. It’s become more than a job to me.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Velente mutters.

 “Fuck,” Dean whimpered, head tossed back and lips slightly parted. “I can’t believe I thought you were a blushing virgin.”

Castiel laughs around the tip of Dean’s cock, pulling off to say, “Yeah, but once you get the technique down, the act of sucking dick isn’t that difficult. Now, shut up and let me pleasure you, my love.”

Dean whines, back arching off the bed and legs trembling as he holds them open. Castiel grins, teeth gleaming and eyes crinkling as he uses his hands to caress Dean’s inner thighs. Castiel leans in, trailing soft pecks along the sweat-soaked skin, nibbling and sucking hickeys into the sensitive flesh.

He goes back down without a warning, Dean’s toes curl in pleasure and he gasps so loud he bets Sammy heard it. Fuck, the kid is only a room over from them. It’s the best blowjob he’s had in his life and not just because Castiel is going like a champ, but because it’s Castiel.

Hell, Castiel could be awkwardly petting his dick and Dean would still be getting off on it.

When he comes, it’s like everything turns white and his head becomes dizzy.

His fingers are numb, and all senses are cut off except the absolute warmth that cradles him. He’s not in control of his mouth so a bunch of gibberish and blabbering nonsense falls out of his lips, “I love you, Cas. Fuck, everything about you makes me want to die. You’re so fantastic. I just want to love you and hold you and fuck you and—"

Castiel cuts him off with a kiss, mumbling against his lips, “Let’s save the love confessions until you’re clear-headed.”

Nuzzling into Castiel’s embrace, Dean sighs contently. “Remind me in the morning.”

Snorting, Castiel merely tightens his grips around Dean’s body, “It is morning.”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbles, falling asleep.

 

“You discover anything interesting on fish-people?” Dean asks, done sulking about the harsh confrontation. “All I found was some kinky erotica about Chuck’s books. I guess Supernatural Mermaid isn’t safe to google anymore. Add that to your list.”

Sam chuckles, typing away furiously on his laptop, “Yes, actually. Mermaids are kind of like the zombies of water, there is so much lore that finding any credible sources seems impossible. But a number of sightings, all with extremely similar descriptions across multiple cultures during different periods of time, does raise a red flag. They’re called aquatic humanoids in the scientific world. It’s all very fascinating.”

Dean barely stops from rolling his eyes, “Calm down super geek, all I asked was if you had any luck, not a college essay.”

“Shut up,” Sam says, then, “Or I’ll call Cas and get him to explain why you’ve been so evasive. He’ll tell me all the terrible details too, how you’re probably to blame because he’s an innocent flower and he’s lacking social skills.”

“That’s blackmail,” Dean accuses, but caves immediately, “And he’s not so innocent.”

“Sure,” Sam says teasingly, then continues, “Anyway, so the most mentioned method of killing these things is beheading. It’s mentioned the most but there are other possibilities too, like taking it out of the water until it suffocates, or by a bronze dagger through the heart. What do you think?”

“Let’s just do all of them,” Dean suggests, already imagining using a bronze dagger and the incredible badassery that would follow, “Bring weapons for every possibility, even though beheading sounds the most definite. Let’s stay on the safe side and be prepared." 

Sam nods, clearly liking the proactive response, “Alrighty, then. Pack tonight and leave in the morning, I guess.”

“I’m not looking forward to the drive—” Dean groans, rubbing his neck from muscle memory. Sixteen hours is too damn long on the road, especially as he's not getting younger. “—and I’m definitely not looking forward to a motel bed.”

“You never are,” Sam says, closing his laptop and standing up, “I’m taking a shower first.”

“Don’t clog up the drains,” Dean calls after his retreating back. Sam throws a casual middle finger over his back, not even bothering to turn around. It makes Dean laugh, pushing all thoughts of Castiel aside for once. “These old pipes can’t handle your moose load.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sam yells back, the quieter, “Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean shouts back, chuckling to himself.

After a few moments of silence, Dean feels his heart sink. He’s alone with his thoughts again. Great.

 

Henriksen jumps out of the parked car, an aggravated pep to his step as he walks towards the prison, Valente close on his heels. They burst through the doors, flashing their badges to an elderly front desk employee. She gets fluster and embarrassed, spending far too long buzzing them through to the holding cell. Her name is [Mildred ](https://tibs2.threeifbyspace.net/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Supernatural-1111-Mildred.png)and she informs the pair that she has to escort them.

“Is that young man really a murderer?” She asks after seconds of walking, voice like a mouse.

Valente answers, knowing Henriksen is too worked up, “Serial killer and psychopath, to be exact.”

She harrumphs, “He didn’t really seem like a killer to me.”

“They never do,” Henriksen bites out, almost crying in relief when they finally reach the room.

Before she lets them in, Mildred looks straight into Henriksen’s eyes, “He’s got a good soul.”

“I don’t care if he’s Gandhi reincarnated.” Valente pushes past her. “He’s FBI’s most wanted.”

Said psychopathic serial killer is napping on a bench, elbow crooked over his face to shield his eyes from the LED beams shining directly down on him, ordaining the typical orange jumpsuit. He doesn’t move a muscle as the door swings open, hitting the wall with a loud crack. Henriksen cringes at the noise, slipping into the two chair desk adjacent Winchester. Valente slips his hands into his pockets, leaning against the far wall.

It’s so overwhelming, no one makes a move. Clearing his throat, Henriksen taps his knuckles onto the metal table. Nothing happens. Henriksen looks down at his lap, feeling the sweat gather under his armpits. He takes a deep breath, then tries to awaken the man he’d been hunting the last decade of his life. His voice comes out weak. “Excuse me, Mr. Winchester?”

Valente rolls his eyes, clapping his hands together and shouting, “Rise and shine, Winchester.”

Winchester stirs, face un-lodging from the crook of his elbow. He rubs his eyes and cracks his neck. Sitting up, Winchester looks different. Aged in a way they’d never seen. It had been six months since they’d last seen a photo of him, wrinkles had manifested and grays were growing in. How the killer aged so fast, what kind of stresses had could cause this? The body they’d examined earlier today was much younger, maybe five years younger.

“Well, I guess I’m in more trouble than a speeding ticket,” Winchester notes, lounging back. His eyes analyze the two agents, sweeping over them in broad strokes, Henriksen feels naked under the criminal’s gaze. He shifts uncomfortably. “What did I do wrong, agents?”

“You are Dean Winchester, correct?” Valente pipes up, face cold.

Smiling, teeth glistening, Winchester shakes his head, “I’m Edgar Cayce, seems like you’ve got the wrong guy. Although, I’ve always heard I’ve got a familiar face.”

“Surprising alias,” Henriksen commentates, starting to regain control of the room, and remembering the Winchester’s delusions of the Supernatural. It’s part of their origin story, John Winchester raising the two brothers into a life of vigilante carnage. “Considering that the real [Edgar Cayce](http://i0.wp.com/disinfo.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Cayce1.jpg?resize=777%2C400) was a crack that claimed to be psychic. Strange pick, Winchester.”

“Well, I’m sure your boys have my licenses.” Winchester shrugs, “It proves my identity.”

“I’m positive they do.” Henriksen agrees, “But I’ve had your case for ten years. I know it’s you.”

The mood shifts, a cold chill goes up Henriksen's spine.

“Yikes,” Winchester frowns, commiseratively, “That’s a long time to be chasing after a ghost.”

“You think you’re a ghost?” Henriksen asks, voice even. “Or was that a figure of speech?”

Winchester looks at the ceiling, expression unreadable, “Can’t it be both? Honestly, I’m just stalling. Eventually, Sam will come for me, zapping in here and doing something you can’t explain. You’ll never catch me and I’ll never stop hunting. So keep asking me pointless questions, I’m just waiting for my brother.”

“Zapping; is that what you call what your friend does? James Novak, I believe.” Henriksen watches the surprise fall over Winchester’s face. He mentally congratulated himself. “He went missing years ago, and his daughter Claire was abducted from her group home. Do they “hunt” with you?”

Winchester eventually says, “Cas can’t fly anymore. He’s lost his wings.”

Henriksen ponders the complex sentence, maybe it’s a riddle? “What do you mean, can’t fly anymore? Is that what Novak was doing? Flying. How did he lose his wings?”

“He’s not Jimmy,” Winchester replies, looking uncomfortable, “Jimmy is dead. Let’s drop this topic, alright? I’ll tell you this, Claire is alright. Last I checked, she’s living with a new family. Going to college. I didn’t kidnap her if that’s what you're asking.”

Shuffling ungracefully, Henriksen decides to ask a risky question. He has to word this carefully incase Winchester is oblivious to the girl's location. “Yes, we’ve realized that Claire is in a safe environment. She’s been adopted by a very secure member of society, and I’m wondering if you know who that person is. Do you and Mr. Novak ever check-up on his daughter? Drive past her new home to check if she’s adjusting? 

“No, I’ve not seen her in months.” A brief hesitation, Winchester fumbles with the direct inquiry. “But I’m glad she’s happy and has a good family.”

It’s an obvious lie, Winchester was certainly keeping a close eye on the girl, but Henriksen doesn’t call him out on it. He chooses to focus on the bigger picture. “Back to your previous statement, hunting I believe you referred to it as. Is that some sort of slang term, or is it how you justify murdering innocents?”

“I only kill monsters,” Dean says stiffly, annoyed.

Henriksen had offended him somehow, it hadn’t been his intention but it might lead to better answers. Clearing his mind, he tries to regain the names that had been permanently ingrained in his memory. “Yes, I’m well versed in you and your brother's case, you’re both vigilante killers. Still, there have been many instances where the victim has had no criminal charges, why do you kill them?”

“I only kill monsters,” The sentence sounds more echoed this time, emphasis on the last word.

“So, you do believe in the supernatural?” He already knew the answer.

Winchester spread out his hands, “If you’ve been trailing me for ten years, Scully, I’m sure you know the answer. Anyways, I’m an open book.”

“Every person you and your brother have murdered have been a monster?” He reiterates the question, toasting himself as Winchester pauses. This is the perfect time to jump in, “Because I know some of your victim's names, would you be willing to tell me if they were monsters or not?”

“Shoot,” Winchester said confidently, leaning back with a chilling expression on his face.

“[Madison Vaugier](http://files.supernaturaljess81074.webnode.com/200000957-a6030a6fbc/Madison.jpg),” He says the name slowly, watching for a reaction on Winchester’s face. His face remains blank, although a bit confused. Henriksen elaborates, “She was a woman you met in 2006 if I’m remembering properly. One of the first kills we actually believed was your brothers doing, gunshot to the head with copious amounts of semen covering her bed. Does any of this ring a bell?”

“Madison?” Winchester says the nickname with remorse and sadness. “Yes, regrettably, she was a monster.”

Such delusional ideas only made to justify their twisted actions. Henriksen shakes his head, about to respond when Valente steps in, “What type of monster was she, Winchester? The kind you and your brother raped before killing?”

Face rearing back like it was slapped, Dean practically roars, “How dare you accuse—”

He cuts off when Valente casually lays his hand over his waistband, right on top of his gun. Henriksen groans, the mood has been ruined. He turns towards his partner, scowling deeply at the man's senselessness. Winchester wasn't like the usual criminals, he was cunning and a psychopath. Any little thing could set him off and silence the man's willingness to answer questions. Without any shame, Henriksen actually turns towards his own partner and quirks his eyebrow challengingly.

"I think it's about time you take a break, Valente." He says lowly, acutely aware of Winchester listening in. "You've dealt with a lot of stress today and might be susceptible to emotional manipulation."

Valente rolls shoulders back, straightening his posture and turning to leave. "I'll go get some coffee."

When it's just him and Winchester left in the room, Henriksen apologizes, "I'm sorry for his comments, they seemed to hit a sore spot."

"What is this? Good cop, bad cop?" Winchester scoffs, face twisted in irritation. "I'm not playing your games anymore. Madison was a monster, a werewolf to be exact, we took her out in the quickest way possible. If we had known the cure, we wouldn't have done it. But she was killing people, her boss and ex-boyfriend for example. As I said, we only go after monsters. And even though she seemed like a good person, she couldn't contain her animalistic instincts."

Humming, Henriksen moves onto another person, "How about Dick Roman? You stabbed him in the neck, I believe. James Novak as your accomplice."

"Dick Roman was a bad cookie," Winchester laughs bitterly, "The dude was in politics and economics, no chance of him being a good guy."

"So, because you disagreed with his viewpoints you assassinated him. Was it that trivial, Winchester?" Henriksen questioned, he knows a diversion when he sees one. There was obviously a genuine reason Winchester targeted such a powerful influencer. Winchester says nothing, apparently done with this line of questioning. Henriksen cursed inwardly, time to change tactics. He already knew what Winchester was going to say, though. Roman was a monster in their eyes, and he wasn't going to change that belief.

Time to concentrate on the current circumstances, "Alright, then. If you won't answer that, I've got more pressing matters to ask about."

"Okay," Winchester shrugs, adding, "I just won't answer stupid questions. And asking if I assassinated Dick Roman because of his politics is pretty stupid."

"How are you alive?" Henriksen asks with no hesitation, ignoring Winchester's criticisms. "That's not a stupid question, is it?" 

Winchester looks mildly uncomfortable, "I suppose it's not. It's a curious thing, how I'm still alive. Guess I've just got an angel on my shoulder." 

"No," Henriksen states sharply, "It's more than good luck or divine intervention. Less than an hour ago I was looking at your dead corpse on a mortician's table."

"You already know my answer, I've said it before." Winchester shares, "Monsters and the supernatural. That thing you're carving on is a shapeshifter. Well, a distant cousin of one, anyway. He's called a [Näcken](http://andyrenardartwork.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/Bestarium_Nacken_l.jpg) or a nøkk, the reason so many pregnant women have been drowning, by the way. We killed him, but it was after he'd chosen to shapeshift into me, and since they don't have a true shape they die with whatever face they have on."

Castiel, wholly human, waltzed into Dean’s bedroom with fortitude. Dean, unsure of what was going on followed like a lost puppy. As soon as the door closed behind him, Castiel pressed him against it. His head is swimming, shock permanently etched on his face as Cas scowls at him. Azure eyes ridiculously blue, remaining so unearthly even after his grace left.

Clearing his throat, Dean croaked out, “What are you doing, Cas?”

“I’m human,” Castiel responded, expecting Dean to understand.

Dean winced, still restrained. “Yeah, I noticed. Is that why you’re pinning me? Going to get a few shots in?”

Castiel rolled his eyes, getting closer. “I’m able to fully experience arousal now.”

Shying away, Dean tried to shimmy out of his hold. “Awesome perk, but what does that got to do with me?”

“I’m surprised you’re so obtuse, Dean.” Cas shook his head. “I’m asking for permission to ravish you.”

“Come again?” He could feel his eyes widen theatrically.

“Can I kiss you or not? It's a yes or no question,” Cas verbalized.

Pushing Cas away was easy, especially when he saw the upset on Dean’s face. Instantly they were on opposite sides of the room, what felt like miles away from each other. Still, Dean could feel Castiel’s heat and warmth. As the seconds pass, Dean trying to formulate a proper sentence, the air becomes cool where Cas touched. What was going on? Castiel, after all these years of tiptoeing around each other, was finally coming onto Dean? It sounded unbelievable.

"Why?" Is what he finally settles on. It echoes around the room, sounding much louder than he meant for it to be.

Cas shrugs, unfazed. "Why not?"

"Because," Dean feels crazy, why is Cas acting so casual about this? "It doesn't make sense. All of a sudden you want to jump me? I'm struggling here. Why does being a human change anything?"

"It changes everything," Cas looks more tired as a human, Dean notices this and Cas picking at his fingernails. "Dean, I'm able to feel attraction and the first person I am remotely attracted to is you. Also, I don’t want to waste any more time than we already have. I'm human, I have an expiration date. Now, unless you don't want to be with me, I suggest we do what has been building between us these past few hours. Kiss each other and fool around."

Dean wants to grab the confession, tuck it under his ribs and next to his heart. But there are doubts, wants he can't give into because it would hurt. "Is that what this is going to be? Fooling around? Because I can't do that with you. It's too much, to be friends and casually fuck. I can't do that. Please don't ask me to do that."

"I want to be more than friends," Cas says without hesitation. 

"Well, okay then."

When they hit the bed, locking the door for Sammy's benefit, Dean lets out a shocked gasp. Castiel's hands traveled the distance from his shoulders to the small of his back, sending chills of electric excitement tingling across his skin. The lights are still on, he notices, and their bright fluorescent was ruining the mood. Castel senses his dawdling,  taking his body away to flick off the switch, then coming back with absolute desire.

Cas is wearing one of Dean's discarded flannels, Sam's holey white undershirt and a pair of Dean's ratty jeans. They hadn't had enough time to shop for Castiel since he'd became human. But the jeans were two sizes too small, and Dean never allowed himself to appreciate this before now. His eyes glued to the thick curve of Castiel's thighs, and the beautiful roundness of his ass. Then, before Dean can start worshiping his legs, Cas slips his hips out of the pants expertly. Only tight white briefs left.

"Your turn to take off your pants," he says, impishly.

Dean doesn't really hear him; he's too busy staring, taking in all the tan skin with no blemishes. The wet spot on the front of Cas's underwear. He lets out a shaky breath, tugging Castiel's flannel and top off too. Cas lays back on the bed, legs sprawled open suggestively, eyes half-lidded and mouth as red as a cherry pie. He slowly started running his hands up Castiel's stomach and chest, stopping when he reached the long column of his neck. Caressing his scruffy jaw, Dean stares right into Cas's bright breathtakingly blue eyes. 

They flip over, Cas settling his ass right over Dean's erection. 

"Oh, God," Dean whimpers at the angle change.

Cas keeps watching him, sweat dripping down his forehead and splashing onto the hollow of Dean's neck. Body quaking with pleasure. They're both in their underwear when Dean begins to kiss him, pressing his lips delicately to Cas's. An electric pulse tingles from his mouth to his toes. 

"You can't imagine how often I've thought of this." 

Grinning at the confession, Cas reaches down towards Dean waistband, pushing his briefs down, his hands clumsy with want. The cool air comes in contact with the head of his dick, feeling sharp against the burning wetness. "Let me get you off, Dean. I want to touch you."

"Fuck yes," Dean complies, cock spasm-ing hard against his stomach. 

When Dean fist-fucks Castiel's hand, he comes in under two minutes. Not sure whether to be embarrassed at himself or impressed by Cas, Dean promptly crumbles onto the bed and falls asleep. He doesn't find out until morning that Castiel decided to jerk off onto Dean's chest, but the cum is crusty and cold. He laughs about it, saying, "Guess we'll need to have shower sex." 

[Sylva, North Carolina](https://chambermaster.blob.core.windows.net/userfiles/UserFiles/chambers/1140/CMS/DowntownSylvaVickiGreene.jpg) had a population of just over one thousand residents and the lack of hotels was sinful.

There were only two options, Sam had told him. [One overpriced mom and pop joint](https://t-ec.bstatic.com/images/hotel/max1024x768/340/34091309.jpg) that was right on the[ main street](https://i0.wp.com/dillsboroinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/1024px-SylvaNC_web.jpg?resize=825%2C466), claiming it helped local business owners. The other was a [chain motel](https://s-ec.bstatic.com/images/hotel/max1280x900/314/31427618.jpg) with a pool located less in the middle of things, but still reasonably close. Dean debated internally, weighing comfort over money, before settling on the overpriced one. It might be worth it to pick a place with good mattresses for a change.

They start off on the long trek from Kansas to the [Great Smoky Mountains](https://images.fineartamerica.com/images/artworkimages/mediumlarge/1/great-smoky-mountains-national-park-gatlinburg-tn-scenic-landscape-dave-allen.jpg), not stopping once. It's already late when they pull into the dinky town and even tinier motel that Dean completely ignores the [god-awful décor](https://s-ec.bstatic.com/images/hotel/max1024x768/340/34091323.jpg) and slouches straight to their [room](https://exp.cdn-hotels.com/hotels/10000000/9070000/9066500/9066456/9066456_9_z.jpg).

He barely mutters a goodnight to Sam before he's out cold in his bed. Sixteen-hour car trips will apparently drain the energy out of you.

The next morning, Dean and Sam decide to visit the [local police department](https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/0a/a3/67/95/photo0jpg.jpg). Conveniently, it was located directly across from the motel.

Pulling on the usual threads and stuffing the fake ID's in their pockets, they stroll straight into the police department with no hassle. The sheriff stands there with his arms on his hips, giving them a funny once over. He shoves out his hand for a shake, thick accent grating on Dean's ears. "We've never dealt with FBI before, only really seen 'em on the big screen. Ya' know the Fugitive was partially filmed here, that movie with Harrison Ford? That had FBI agents in it, I think."

Sam smiles sweetly at him, "How interesting. But, we're actually here about the death of Candice Luker, Sheriff. She was the girl that was pulled into the water, right?"

A troubled expression clouds the officer's face, "Candy was such a sweet girl. Really lived up to her name. I watched that youngin' grow up. She'd just got married, too. Shotgun wedding, I heard. Her husband was there when it happened. We asked him what he witnessed and he spouted all kinds of crazy nonsense. We had the poor boy in a cell when another murder happened."

"There was another drowning?" Dean asks, anxiously.

The sheriff seems unsettled, "It happened on Thursday. Another local girl, Jane Moss. She's the minister's daughter at United Sylva Methodist. We've already spoken with him, and he has a substantial alibi. Anyway, during the drowning, a whole group of girls went to the lake with her and they have the same story. A mermaid pulled Jane Moss into the lake."

"Any connection between the victims other than their sex?" Dean asks, trying to puzzle the pieces together.

Shaking his head, "Nothing superficial, and personality wise they were worlds different. Unlike Candy, we actually caught a couple of Jane's appendages while combing the lake. We're performing an autopsy on the remains now, might help the investigation with evidence. Until then, you're welcome to browse the files, go scope the lake yourselves, or question any of the witnesses of Jane Moss's death."

"I think we'll go check the lake," Dean decides, "If we familiarize ourselves with the area it might help. Where's the lake again? A couple miles down [Highway 107](http://mw2.google.com/mw-panoramio/photos/medium/76032330.jpg) and up Shook Cove Road?"

The Sheriff calls a name over his shoulder, a few seconds later a bumbling scrawny kid with a nose too big for his face rushes over with flushed cheeks. He glances at Dean, then when he notices Dean already looking at him, skirts his gaze away quickly. Awkward, Dean lifts his eyebrows at the fumbling. The sheriff thuds his hand on the kids back, “Gentlemen, this is my nephew, Antonio. He’ll show you where Cedar Lake is, we use to fish there all the time when he was younger.”

“Cedar Lake?” Dean repeats the name, “I thought it was [Cedar Cliff Lake](http://www.janandpat.net/dams/dukepower/images/cedarcliff02.jpg)?”

“We locals keep it simple and call the lake Cedar,” Antonio says softly. “Easier to recollect.”

On the drive out, Dean trailing the deputy’s car, Sam speaks up. “We should’ve gotten here earlier. Maybe we could’ve saved that last girl, Jane.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Sammy.” Dean tries to cheer him up,” Besides, we’ve got more pressing issues at hand. Like how are we going to lose the smoky, here? The kid will probably want to trail us everywhere, must be an FBI buff because he was looking at me like I was a shiny object.”

Sam breaks into a laugh, mischievous glint in his eye, “You know he’s got a crush on you. Maybe we can use that to our advantage. Keep ‘em talking long enough for me to scout out anything weird?”

Dean makes a disgusted face, “Ew. No way, he’s practically Claire’s age. I’m not seducing someone that could be Claire’s boyfriend.”

“Don’t make any actual moves on him,” Sam says exasperated, “Just pay attention to what he’s saying and act interested. It’ll keep him occupied enough for me to investigate.”

“Fine,” Dean said, reluctant and dismayed. “I’ll flirt with the jailbait that can arrest me.”

The asphalt road dwindled off into a gravel disaster without warning, triggering him to grip tightly on the steering wheel of the Impala. The curves grow intense too, throwing dirt and dust upwards as Dean speeds to catch up to the deputy.  The switch from government maintained to[ ruff country dirt road](https://ap.rdcpix.com/833618253/a2b31d640104de88f26c67e684025630l-m3xd-w640_h480_q80.jpg) was unbelievable, Dean could practically feel the Impala’s front end being knocked out.

Before long, the deputy pulled into an open side road and led them straight to the boat dock for the lake. Instant chills covered his body, Dean stared at the water in trepidation. Taking a deep breath, Dean pulled next to Antonio and shifted into park.

“Keep the five-o busy and I’ll snoop.” Sam reminds. 

“Just know I’ve got a bad feeling about this place,” He mutters to Sam before jumping out of the car and walking over to Deputy Antonio. As soon as he's leaving the confined space of the Impala, his bones ache and his tongue feels heavy. The water ripples unusually in the middle, otherwise smooth and unmoving.

Dean quickly looks away, suddenly hot in the nippy autumn air, fixing his sights on Antonio.

The deputy smiles, “Hey, isn’t it beautiful?”

“Not the exact words I’d use,” Dean says back, still apprehensive. “Kind of murky, actually.”

“Nah,” Antonio laughs shyly, “It’s only dark like that in the deep parts.”

Dean isn’t convinced, but plows on, “So, you grew up around these parts?”

“Yeah,” There’s a red blush varnishing his cheeks, Antonio rubs the back of his neck. “Learned to swim here before Duke took it over. Now you can only fish or boat here. But just between you and me, I don’t think Jane Moss was coming to boat. Those girls were here to have fun and splash around in their little bikinis.”

“Duke?” Dean ponders the name, “Some hotshot rich family?”

“[The power company](http://www.janandpat.net/dams/dukepower/images/eftp01.jpg),” He corrects. “These are manmade lakes, sir. Four of them to be exact, all lined up like thanks to [Nantahala power](http://www.janandpat.net/dams/dukepower/franklindam.htm). You use to be able to swim, camp, and picnic here before Duke Power took over. And even though it’s forbidden, people still do it.” 

“[Four connected lakes](https://img.hipcamp.com/image/upload/c_limit,f_auto,h_1200,q_60,w_1920/v1502207978/campground-photos/ygei9mtdtyviaejhwjae.jpg).” Dean asserts, “Is that important to the drownings?”

“So far all the incidences have happened right here in Cedar,” Antonio says, tilting his head in consideration, “But we can go check the others out if you want. The closest is [Bear Lake](http://fbrpaddle.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/DSC07971.jpg), up the little Canada side. Or, uh, since you’re not from here, its access is up 281.”

“Isn’t there a turn off to Bear Lake on the way out here? I saw it as we were following you in.”

“That’s the [reserve](https://img.grouponcdn.com/deal/2suuMbh4N8dKc4KELdPeXtERjgYa/2s-1696x1018/v1/c700x420.jpg),” Antonio discloses, “its not public admittance, only if you’re willing to pay a fee.”

"Has there been any older incidents here?" Dean asks, "Previous drowning, or something violent?"

"Yeah," He looks less enthused about this topic, "But they aren't connected. Everyone in this little piss-ant town is in an uproar about a thirty-year crime spree. Listen, those murders in the '60s have no correlation to two girls mysteriously drowning."

Dean was swiftly more intrigued. "I wouldn't mind hearing the story."

"No big story. Just five girls dying in this lake six decades ago."

"Alright." Dean says, then adds, "But I'd still appreciate you giving us the death records."

The deputy nods reluctantly, "I'll get the sheriff to send them over to your hotel room." 

Dean presses his lips together, glancing at the lake again. Goosebumps form on his skin. “I’ll take you up on that earlier offer, about going to the other lake. Let my partner stay and look around, you can drive me over. Does that sound alright?”

“Sure,” Goofy smile returning to his lips, “It’s about a fifteen-minute ride.”

“I’ll go tell my partner and we can go,” Dean says, saluting and marching straight over to a dubious looking Sammy. The Sasquatch is conspicuously walking around with his EMF meter, floppy hair blowing in the wind. Dean walks over to him and whispers, “Hey, I’m going with Barney Fife over to another Lake, we’ll be back soon.”

Sam stumbles, almost dropping the device, but manages to nod. “Good. I’ll be able to run more tests. Meet back up at the motel, I guess.”

Dean tosses him the keys and walks back to the deputy, “Alright, ready when you are.”

They hop into the cop car, spinning wheels as they back out of the horrible terrane. It’s a pretty miserable drive, with the unkempt road, but the farther they get from the Cedar Lake the calmer Dean feels. They make it out to the main road, then turn up towards little Canada.

“So, any ghost stories around these parts?” Dean disrupts the silence, fishing for information.

Antonio nods unreservedly, “Actually, it’s tied to these lakes. What a coincidence, right?"

“A happy mistake,” Dean said unintentionally sarcastic, switching into hunter mode. “What happened?”

“Well, it’s all just myth. I grew up with these stories, local legends and all.” The deputy reddened, starting to spin the tail, “Back when the lakes were being built, jobs were being made frequently thanks to the works progress administration, as FDR was trying to help those going through the great depression. There was a house above Cedar Lake, home of an elderly lady who rented rooms to boarders. The men would go out and work on the dam and lakes, then come back to her home for warmth and a cot. We’re actually about to pass the ol’ homestead now.”

Looking out the window, Dean squints. There’s a patch of land, charred and burn down with no evidence of a home beside the lone fireplace standing stoutly. It's creepy, Dean will give him that. They'll have to check the E.M.F. later. When Antonio doesn't start back up, Dean notes. "Looks like a dump. What's so haunted about the place anyway?" 

"The old woman use to kill the workers, skin them alive and throw their bodies into the lake." Antonio laughs a lit bit. "It's not real, obviously. Just an old folktale."

After a couple minutes of silence, the deputy speaks again, "My great grandpa was one of the Swedish immigrants working on these lakes during the great depression."

"Swedish, huh?" Dean raises his eyebrow, a Latino boy with Swedish ancestry.

"My dad is Mexican. I'm mixed." Antonio blushed, noticing Dean's curiosity, "My great grandpa actually boarded with the old woman. Didn't die though. One of his buddies did, but I can't imagine that the grandma killed him. It was probably just overexertion, they worked them like slaves since the job was so shitty."

Within twenty minutes, they've been to the lake and are on their way back to the motel. Bear Lake had nothing to offer, which meant this particular hunt would probably be focusing on Cedar Lake. Sighing, Dean leaned back in the seat of the car and relaxed. The deputy remained quiet enough for him to start thinking, mind wandering to less unfortunate thoughts. Castiel front and center, mouth quirked into a frown and dark hair messy. 

Eventually, they pull up to the [motel](https://s.yimg.com/vp/e370/e370cb54ec7bae6a160327c3e4decb44.jpg). In the light of day, you really notice how beautiful and historic the town is. The [vintage courthouse](http://www.civilwaralbum.com/misc19/2011a/jacksoncch1.jpg) is overlooking the entire town, motel and police department included. 

"I'm back." Dean greeted, relieved to be free from the star-struck deputy.

"Why don't you want to call Cas?" Sam asks, not bothering to look up from his book. Dean can't be sure but it looks like a historical manifesto of the town, Sylva. Well, the nerd probably swung by the huge ass library before he came back to the motel.  _Nice_. Also, the death records Dean asked for had been delivered, sitting in their manila envelope as Sammy reads.

"It's nice to see you too, Sam." Dean says sarcastically, "Nothing at the other Lake, in case you were wondering."

Sam huffed, throwing the hardcover on the table, "I'm getting tired of your act. We need Castiel for this, just to confirm if mermaids are real or not. He used to help us all the time. What happened?"

Dean shakes his head, grabbing the Impala keys and turning to walk back out the door, "I'm going to interview the witnesses. Are you coming, or not?" 

Valente walks back into the room, two coffees in hand. He passes one to Henriksen and leans back against his signature wall. Winchester still refuses to answer basic questions, blaming his clone on some lake monster. They were getting nowhere. Standing up, Henriksen takes a sip of his drink and walks out of the room. Valente, confused, follows a few beats behind. As soon as they're out of Winchester's watchful gaze, Henriksen starts to talk.

"We'll need a forensic psychologist," He says, upset. "I'm not getting through to him."

"Who do you want?" Valente asks, like he already knew Henriksen was going to say that. "The closest is [Munroe ](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/supernatural/images/3/3b/Nick_monroe.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20110708180110)in Raleigh. Then it's [Reidy ](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/images/e/e2/CalvinReidy.jpg)in Nashville."

"Definitely Calvin," Henriksen says quickly, "Munroe gives me the creeps, always digging his nose into my business."

Laughing, Valente slaps him on the back, "That's what psychologists are for."

"I don't need him psychoanalyzing me drinking coffee," Henriksen complains, taking a sip of his coffee in retribution. "Or talking about my mental health without an appointment."

Holding his hands up in surrender, Valente grins, texting on his phone, "Okay, I just sent for Reidy. Calm your pants. He'll be here before Winchester gets transferred, in case you were worried."

Groaning, Henriksen thinks back to the horrible interview. "I can't question him anymore, I've been studying him for over a decade and I can't function properly around the real deal."

"You were really professional," Valente complements, "You know how these criminals are, Vic. They're sharks, waiting for the first drop of blood before they attack. Thankfully you don't bleed easily." 

"With Winchester, it's different." Henriksen tries to explain, "He's a different breed. He's fucking insane, with the paranormal delusions and all. But his character is unreadable."

Valente sighs, "I know, man. Good thing we called Calvin, then. He'll help. He'll get Winchester confessing to all his crimes and then some."

"Praying for small miracles," Henriksen finishes his coffee, "The quicker we get him to crumble, the quicker we can get out of small-town-USA."

Pressing his socked feet into Castiel's thigh, he waited patiently as Netflix was set up. Castiel was squinting at the laptop, a mix of irritation and mirth as he tried to connect the computer to the TV. With a burst of static, the television displayed the laptop's screen. Castiel lets out an excited noise, pride evident on his face. Dean grins, sappy, reaching out to squeeze his boyfriend's bicep in fondness. 

"So," Castiel says, cutesy, "What are we watching tonight? Another Western, or are we moving on from my Clint Eastwood education?"

Dean muses, glancing at the recommended section, "You pick." 

"Alright," Castiel agrees, pulling Dean's feet into his lap. He starts rubbing, affectionately.

Sighing contently, Dean pulling his feet back and moving his body closer. Pressing their shoulders together, Dean pets the dark curls of hair that have matted sweaty onto Castiel's forehead. Castiel's hair was getting long, having avoided scissors since he became human, his tuffs were growing down his neck and completely covering his ears. It's endearing, Dean decides, brushing the lush hair with his fingers and tucking some behind his ear. 

Rough palms cradled his face, Dean lets himself relax into the hold.

Their lips pressed together, sweet and sugary. Pulling back, their foreheads resting together and their breaths mingling.

"I love you," Dean says in barely more than a whisper. 

Castiel's hand relaxed below his ear, "I love you more."

"I love you most," Dean laughed at the banter. Castiel's thumb caressing Dean's cheek.

His lips were a pale pink reminding Dean of sultry champagne. He nosed along his jaw, "I love you more than that."

"If there's one thing I learned in school is that you can't have  _more_  than  _most_. That's basic grammar," Dean simpers, "I love you the most."

"Yes," Cas ran his hand over Dean's back, the soft hairs tickling the tips of his fingers. "And I love you more."

Then, without warning, Castiel randomly clicks on Fuller House.  _Motherfucking Fuller house_. What a mood killer, Dean scoffs.

"Is Uncle Jessy in this?" Castiel asks, settling back into the couch as the show starts up. He looks over to Dean expectantly.

Dean feels slightly offended, "How the hell am I supposed to know what John Stamos is up to? We are  _not_  watching this garbage."

Unsurprisingly, Castiel protests, "Why not? I read on BuzzFeed that it's like a time capsule. It's nostalgic for you right?"

"We need to whitelist that website," Dean states sassily, groaning as the earworm theme song starts. "There's only so many listicles you can read, Cas."

They end up watching six episodes, and Dean doesn't get emotionally connected to DJ Tanner and her romantic adventures. He cuddles closer to Castiel, head in the crook of his neck, and sighs contently. If this was how the rest of his life was, he'd be completely fine with that. Watching shitty television with Castiel and Sammy sound asleep in his room. Castiel holding his hand in public. Playing with his hair while binging Netflix. Castiel kissing him the middle of a sentence just to taste his mouth. Rubbing Castiel's back as he falls asleep. Castiel blasting every classic rock album at the loudest volume because Dean is sad. Everything was excellent.

The witness they finally decided to visit was living on campus at the [local college](https://www.uniquevenues.com/sites/uniquevenues.com/files/imagecache/2015_venue_flexslider/venues/slideshow/WCU.jpg).  _Western Carolina University._  They walk up to Jane Moss's dorm, Sam knocking three times before they resume the usual stance. Checking in at the front desk, they had learned that the roommate had another girl over that was present in the freak drowning. The roommate's name being, Grace Sims. 

The door swings open, revealing a skinny snot covered girl with deep-set eyes and waist length auburn hair. Her skin is pale, everywhere besides the horrific dark circles under her eyes. She's dabbing her moist cheeks, from crying, with a tissue bundle. 

"Howdy," Dean smiles, trying to appear friendly. "Are you Grace Sims, Jane Moss's roommate?"

She shakes her head, slowly, like she's trying to figure out if she should tell them anything. "No. Gracie is in the bathroom."

"I'm Agent Ford." Dean flashes his badge, then gestures towards Sam. "Agent Hamill. FBI. When do you reckon Gracie will be back? We've got some questions we want to ask her."

Someone taps their back, it's another girl but with umber skin, and bright red lips. Her cornrowed hair is rolled up and perched on the top of her head. She's wearing a [school merch shirt](http://images.footballfanatics.com/FFImage/thumb.aspx?i=/productImages/_2225000/ff_2225412_full.jpg&w=340), with the word  _catamount_  printed on it with purple and gold colors. She looks them over with disinterest. "Hey, I'm Gracie. You're here about Jane, right? Well, I've got a paper due in two hours and I've already told the police everything I know. So you can leave."

"I was there too," The girl that opened the door says, twirling a strand of her hair. She doesn't look sad anymore. "I don't mind answering any questions."

"Shut the fuck up, Vanesa." Gracie rolls her eyes, bumping both Sam and  Dean out of the way and walking into her room. "They're twice your age and here about our dead friend, have some fucking tact. Just because they're hot doesn't mean you gotta tap it."

Dean feels uncharacteristically uncomfortable. Sam shifts awkwardly beside him.

The girl, Vanesa, pouts. She checks out Sam again. " _Well_ , come in, agents. We'll tell you everything we told the police."

Fitting four adults, and two of those being six-foot burly men, into a dorm room was surprisingly more difficult than Dean had pictured. What ends up happening is Sam and Dean crowding onto a twin bed, the other girls on the opposing side of the room on another twin.

"So," Sam starts, "What happened the night Jane Moss was dragged into the lake?"

Scoffing, Gracie says, "We saw a mermaid. And I don't care if you call us crazy. Six people saw it and there's no way it was a mass hallucination or whatever the police are trying to pass it off as. Half of us are on the basketball team, and we can't afford to be taking any drugs or drink. It'd ruin everything we've worked for."

"We believe you," Sam says, diplomatically, "Just tell us what the, uh, mermaid looked like."

"It was a man, for sure." Gracie but her lip, looking less confident, "He was white and had blonde hair."

Vanesa looks scandalized, "Don't forget to mention how gorgeous he was. Holy fuck, he looked like a porn star. Chiseled abs, sculpted face, and long romance-novel hair. He walked, or flopped since he didn't have any feet, straight out of all our wet dreams."

Embarrassed, Gracie nods, "He was attractive. And Jane saw him first. We weren't going to get in the water, I mean its November for crying out loud, I'd rather keep all my limbs and not get phenomena. We were just going to hang out and roast some marshmallows. It was midterms and I suggested we needed a break from the campus life. It's my fault we went out there and now,  _oh God_ , now my best friend is dead."

Shushing her and rubbing Gracie’s back soothingly, Vanesa says, "Jane walked straight into the water, wrapping her arms around the guy and he pulled her under. It was like she was under a spell or something."

"Anything else?" Sam asks, warmly.

"God, this might be just me losing my mind," Gracie looks abashed, "Because I think I was the only one who heard it, but I swear there was music being played. Like a violin or something. I don't know."

"Yeah, no one else heard any music," Vanesa joins, "So I thought she was just projecting or something. But now I'm not so sure."

Dean purses his lips, debating asking the next line of questions. "Cold spots, scratching sounds, flickering lights?"

"Our flashlight went out," Vanesa says eagerly, then revises, "But that's because I forgot to put new batteries in."

Clearing her throat, Gracie looks startled. "Cold spots? Um, when the thing, the mermaid, came out of the water I got the chills and could see my breath." 

Normally that would be a jackpot answer, you don't look the gift horse in the mouth, but it's November and like she mentioned earlier, it's fucking cold all the time. Dean crosses his arms, "How about a smell? It would be very potent, like rotten eggs or Sulphur."

They both shake their heads, Gracie has tears running down her face. "I just feel awful. And Brad won't speak to me."

"Brad," Dean says the name, maybe a jealous lover. "Was that Jane's boyfriend?"

"Not officially," Gracie said, suddenly guarded, "He's my brother, actually. They were seeing each other on the side. Her dad didn't like him, so they were sneaking around." 

"Why didn't Jane's dad like him?" This was becoming more complex.

Both girls looked hesitant, but Vanesa talks, voice worried, "This  _is_  the south, sir. Even though it's 2017, some of the world is still backwards. Jane's dad didn't like that Brad was black."

 

"We should probably interview him," Sam says later as they're eating their burgers.

They had driven to [McDonald](https://s3.amazonaws.com/gs-waymarking-images/56567eb0-32a2-4c6f-9627-4da46dfdd6cb.JPG) because it had been a while since they had ate. They go inside because Dean refuses to allow any McDonald's food into Baby. Not only is it messy, but that stuff will stink up a ride faster than you can say diabetes. Since they're still in their fed suits, people avoid them like the plague. The cashier even looks nervous, asking if they'd like to try the new chicken tender strips. They finally settle down, after a ten-minute wait, Sam pulling out his laptop and making use of the free Wi-Fi.

"The racist pastor?" Dean raises his eyebrows, "You think he's a suspect? Maybe controlling the supposed sea monster? But why would he have killed his daughter?"

"No," Sam rubbed his temples like Dean was giving him a headache, "I just want to know if maybe the girls went to the same church, or if the dad has any new information to offer."

"Sure," Dean amends, remembering its hump day. "Don't they have Wednesday night service? We could go scope him out tonight."

"Thanks," Sam breathes. 

"What did the death records say?" Dean asks, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth. Perfect and greasy.

"Five girls drowned in Cedar Cliff Lake over fifty-seven years ago," Sam takes a bite of his big mac, then says, "Three were pregnant. One was a local orphan, just eight years old."

Being pregnant was becoming a theme, even if Jane Moss and the orphan ruined the pattern. "And the fifth one? Anything about her?"

"Nothing substantial," Sam shakes his head, mouth full. "Out of towner. No one claimed her body and she only got buried when a woman offered a plot in her family cemetery."

"Which cemetery?" Dean asks, they may need to go salt and burn.  

Sam looks at his notes, "[Wike Cemetery](https://images.findagrave.com/photos/2012/81/CEM49185_133246823359.jpg), I believe. Right next to the [Tuckasegee River](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/cxgnlHIN3g0/maxresdefault.jpg), the same river that runs out of the four lakes."

"Coincidence," Dean finally concludes, "The witnesses described a man and this woman fell prey to the same nasty we're looking for."

"I was looking through some of the town histories," Sam starts, looking like an excited history buff, "And the lakes are completely man-made."

Dean nods, already knowing exactly what Sammy's going to say. "Yeah, the deputy filled me in. Apparently, during the Great Depression, the lakes helped create jobs for those who needed it."

He smiles enthusiastically, practically vibrating in his seat, "Exactly! I'm thinking it's a haunting. The Swedish immigrants were forced to work in worse conditions for less money, according to another worker. Maybe it's a Swede turned vengeful spirit. Vanesa did say her flashlight went out. And Gracie said she felt a cold spot. This could be a simple salt and burn. What do you think?"  

"Could be," Dean nods, slurping noisily at his coke. "We should head over to the coroner's office next. Jane's remains were being examined. Maybe they found something."

Sam's phone ringing interrupts the conversation, he looks at the caller ID and gives Dean a guilty glance. He scrambles out of his seat, throwing his thumb over his shoulder, "I'll take this over there."

And as soon as he sees the animated way Sam is talking to the caller, he knows its Castiel. Taking a deep breath, to calm himself, Dean reminds himself it could be worse; Sam could've invited the angel along. Dean could be face to face with Castiel right now, instead, his brother decides to sneak around like a little rascal. Still, he feels kind of betrayed since he told Sam so vehemently how he didn't want to involve Castiel. 

The seconds to last time he saw Castiel, it had been disastrous. It was a different case, something they asked Castiel to trailed after them for because they'd gotten so depended on the third pair of hands. But Castiel wasn't a human anymore, he practically did both their jobs and then some. He hadn't been human for a while, and it seemed like nothing had changed but it had. They had kissed, rubbed against each other, almost to the point of Dean coming when Castiel pushed him away. He had looked upset, no arousal to be seen. It was like a punch to the gut.

Sam's voice raises, and Dean catches the tail end of a sentence, "—you don't need to stop by, man. Just keep in touch."

Dean licks the salt off his fingers, finishing off the meal. 

Eventually, Sam stomps his ginormous yeti feet back over to their booth. Sliding his cell into his back pocket, smiling like he wasn't just going behind Dean's back.

"How's Cas?" Dean asks evenly.

Sam freezes, caught in the act, then sighs. "He wants to meet up, apparently the whole pregnant thing rings a bell for him."

"Did you tell him no?" Dean leans back in his seat, looking at Sam expectantly. "Did you tell him that we don't need him here?"

Tucking a wild strand of hair behind his ear, "Yes. I told him that we had a handle on things."

"Did he listen?"

That was the most important part, the part that would determine whether Dean needed to get the fuck out of dodge. North Carolina would be a blip on the map before Castiel even attempted to drive his shitty continental across however many states. He couldn't, physically, see Castiel. It makes him sick just thinking about the angel; his beautiful blue eyes staring straight into Deans, his perfect mouth pressed against Dean's neck, his deep voice sending a chill across Dean's skin. He couldn't be here, especially since the angel broke up with him.

Sam hesitates and that's all Dean needs to know. " _Wow_. Just, wow. I told you, very clearly, how much I didn't want him here and you go right ahead an invite him along."

"Maybe if you told me why I would understand," Sam says, compassionately. "Cas is my friend too, and your whole lover's spat is really putting a wedge there."

"I don't get why suddenly you insist on share time," Dean barks. "Our MO is repressing shit, Sammy."

"Cas is my friend, too," He echoes, empathetically.

Shooting out of his seat, Dean glares at him, "I'm finished. And hopefully, we will be too before hot wings get here."

"Where are you going?" Sam starts packing everything up, not bothering to press the issue any further.

 _Anywhere without you,_  he almost says.

"To the morgue. I want a look at Jane's body."

When they get to the coroner's office, the sheriff and deputy are both already there. They exchange polite smiles and walk over to the mortician. She had on blue plastic gloves, and a grim expression. Pointing to the table, Dean sees what's left of Jane Moss's body; A right leg, a forearm, and a portion of her scalp. The abrasions look fluid, no sign of struggle as far as he can see. There are teeth marks, molars because of the indentation, this thing was probably eating the body. Decidedly not a ghost _._

"I have no idea what killed her," The mortician says, feebly. "Maybe it was asphyxiation, or it could've been a cannibal. But then, why didn't she struggle? It happened on the twenty-third, though, exactly one week after Candice Luker's disappearance. " 

"Can you test her blood?" Dean asks, watching the confusion blossom on her face. "For pregnancy, I mean."

"She couldn't have been pregnant," The sheriff says, budding in. "Her daddy is the pastor of the Sylva church. She wasn't that kind of girl."

Dean ignores him, thinking of Brad. "Please check?"

The mortician nods, "I'll send a sample to the lab. It'll take about an hour."

The sheriff looks upset at the rival opinion, he mutters, "Wasting your time."

"Really? You think the preacher is a moral man?" Dean laughs at the suggestion, "He was a racist."

"Just because he was against mixed relationships doesn't mean he's a racist." The sheriff says, looking over at the deputy. "My sister had this one with a Mexican. It was wrong, and not because I don't like Mexicans but because you shouldn't intermingle like that."

"You've got some screwed up beliefs, Sheriff,” Dean says, shaking his head. "Lemme guess, you're against same-sex marriage, too?"

Shifting uncomfortably, "I know you millennials have loose morals, but us old timers—" 

"I'm going to stop you right there," Sam says, rigid. 

Two minutes of silence pass; all that's heard is the mortician scrapping blood into a container. 

Antonio grins at Dean, breaking the tension, "Agent Ford. How are you doing?"

"Good," Dean smiles back, patting the kid on his back, "Thanks for the info this morning. It was really helpful."

Blushing, Antonio shyly looks down, "That's very nice of you to say."

"You go to the Moss church?" Dean prods tentatively, lowering his voice so the sheriff can't hear. "We were thinking of going tonight. If they do that kind of thing, that is."

"Well yeah," Antonio responds with a child-like giddiness. "You're more than welcome to come. I can even escort you. And your partner."

Dean smiles tentatively, "Great. You can pick us up. When does it start?"

"Seven thirty," He says cheerily, "The church is up Little Canada, past the Branch where I took you this morning. Do you have a bible? I can bring you one. And your partner."

He thinks about the frayed copy of revelations sitting in the back of the Impala and slowly shakes his head, "You better bring us some. Our copy is pretty tattered."

"That just means it gets used," Antonio says, quick to defend him.

 The mortician finally has her test tube ready, she looks at them. "I'll call you guys with the results. What number can I reach you by?"

Dean hands over their card. “If that doesn't work we're in room four at the motel on Main Street."

"Hello, darling," Reidy greeted, pulling Henriksen into a tight hug. "Now, what kind of trouble are you getting into?"

"I thought Valente debriefed you?" Henriksen asks, "Winchester is insane. He won't give me real answers. I feel like climbing up a wall."

Reidy laughs, a twinkle in his eye, "I drove four hours because your psycho was psycho? Babe, you need to find a better excuse to see me."

"You wish," Henriksen feels relaxed for the first time in days. His oldest friend from the academy by his side. "Winchester is in the interrogation room."

Switching to strict professionalism, Reidy pulls out his tape recorder and looks at Henriksen. "You and Valente need to stay behind the two-way mirror. He already feels aggression towards you both. I need to be alone with him. You said Winchester has schizophrenic tendencies? Can you explain? I'll see if I can get a formal diagnosis during the interrogation."

"Well, from what I've gathered during his childhood, Dean and Sam Winchester were raised in a verbally abusive household, minus the house portion. They moved around while their father did petty crimes, we found out later that he was hunting for his wife's killer. Raised like that, it's no wonder he's traumatized and psychotic. He has these delusional ideas that justify his murders, it reminds me of schizophrenia. Might not be, but you're the expert."

"Well, I'm sure we'll figure him out," Reidy grins, patting him on the back.

Sudden alarms go off, shrill and warbling, ripping through the air and making Henriksen balk.

Mildred runs past them, towards the security room, face austere. "Dean Winchester escaped."

There is a moment where no one says anything.

"What the fuck." Henriksen roars, burning rage hissed through his body. "How did this happen? No— just show me the tape."

"Shouldn't we be sending out cruisers, tracking him, seeing if there was any inside help?" Reidy asks, concerned. 

Valente joins them, pale. "I don't know how he did it. I was watching through the two-way mirror and—"

"Don't." Henriksen shushed him, walking into the security room, Reidy and Valente on his heels. "I just want to see the footage. Nothing more, nothing less."

They sit down in front of the monitor, the room deathly quiet. All the officers behind them staying quiet like they saw a ghost. The atmosphere gets tense as the footage gets replayed, from just minutes earlier. It's kind of fuzzy, no sound only video, showing Winchester resting with his head on the table. It almost looks like he's praying. The feed skips, focusing on Winchester's gloomy face as he stares creepily into the camera. 

Then, someone appears next to him. Not James Novak.

"How—" Reidy sounds floored.

"Be quiet," Henriksen whispers, aggressively.

The woman places her hand on Dean’s shoulder and they disappear. Dean's face empathetic, but still mocking. 

Henriksen curses.

"Who was that?" Reidy asks, they rewind the video and pause on the woman's face.

Her features weren't overtly feminine, nothing dainty or delicate, but the structure was symmetrical. Her dark skin contrasted sharply with her white teeth. Her hair was like corkscrews, short and tightly wound. She was dressed in a long black leather trench coat, combat boots, and black gloves. In her left hand was a tall weapon, some contemporary depiction of a sickle.

Henriksen shakes his head, "I've never seen her. She hasn't been seen with the Winchester's before."

"What's that thing she's holding?" Valente asks, moving closer as if that will make him understand. "Some kind of scythe?"

Henriksen bites his lip, "Yeah. Like the grim reaper has."

"How did she get into the room?" One of the police asked. Henriksen looks over at her, eyeing the name tag on her badge; [Kathleen Hudak.](http://fargate.ru/supernatural/galleries/photos/kathleen_hudak.jpg) "I mean, did the feed jump?"

Valente stared at Henriksen, eyes widening. They both remember the conversation from earlier. Henriksen clears his throat, getting everyone's attention, "We don't know. But we need an APB out on Winchester and have officers watching the impound to make sure he doesn't come for the Impala." 

They're kissing like they normally do when Castiel pushes him away. 

It’s different kissing Cas as an angel; His skin feels like marble. Hard and cold, like a cherub statue you'd see in a graveyard, wings carved into menacing weapons. When Cas was human, he was delicate and velvety. His skin would flush easily , like all the blood pumping through his veins were working double time to make up for when Cas was an angel . His hands would be warm as they caressed Dean's neck, a sweet human aroma wafting off his skin as they moved together. His lips were plush, they'd encase Dean's mouth like two silk pillows. Now, Dean could press his lips to Castiel's and it would feel like kissing a stone. His lips wouldn't mold to Deans, they'd stay firm and unmoving. Cas stands rigid, scentless and inhuman.

"What's wrong?" Dean feels exposed by the intensity of Castiel's eyes.

And then Cas explains, sitting him down like a child and acting as if this isn't a big deal. He says three words, not the three you expect to hear from your sorta-boyfriend; Angels don't want. Dean laughs it off, catching Castiel's hand in his and squeezing it, it feels like he's holding metal and it scares him. He tries to reinitiate the kiss, pushes himself closer to Cas in the hopes of rekindling the interaction. But Cas is strong, his grip is like a clamp and he holds Dean away with a disgusted crook to his mouth.

 He repeats his new mantra, "Angel's don't want. And I don't want you."

Dean takes a couple beats to think about that, "Are you breaking up with me?"

Cas' face remains emotionless, "I will forever and always love you, Dean. Our intimate time spent together will always be looked back on with affection. Simply, I won't engage in any more intercourse."

“So you're breaking up with me." He feels angry saying it.

"Yes," Cas confirms, leaving Dean's hotel room.

It's Cas saying the conversation is over, but Dean follows him, mad. He seizes Cas' arm, cruelly, yanking him back. "We're not finished talking about this."

"Why not?" Cas sounds confused, he apprehensively pulls his arms out of Dean's clasp. "I said my peace, please accept it, Dean."

"No," Dean laughs humorlessly. "I won't because it's not real. You're saying that suddenly since you're an angel, you don’t want me anymore?"

Cas actually looks bashful now. It almost eases Dean's anger, but he's pissed at Cas for ending it with such a flimsy excuse. No intercourse because Cas doesn't want him anymore, he can feel the horrible sensation to cry itching at his tear ducts. "Dean, I have no libido and I can't experience sexual attraction. My grace blocks those human urges."

"So rip it out," Dean half-jokingly suggests, seeing Castiel's horror-stricken expression. "I mean, you miss fucking me, don't you? We haven't done it since you got your grace back, maybe you don't know what you’re missing. Like it's clouding your human memories or something."

"Dean," Cas says sternly, "I'm getting tired of trying to deter your advances. If you try to initiate something without my permission, I won't come back to the bunker. Ever."

Dean looks at Cas in shock, vertigo hitting him. "God, Cas, I'd never do something without your permission, I'd never pressure you. That's rape. Never let someone do that to you, okay? I'm just trying to get you to understand, it's not real. What you’re feeling, right now as an angel, it’s a dulled sense of what you truly want. And Cas, buddy, you want me. This whole asexual jag you've pounced onto, it doesn't apply here because you're the most sexual guy I know when you're graceless. You don't need to break up with me, we can just go back to how things were. Ease back into the sex, maybe a few handies to get you back on the ball, I can be gentle."

"So just because I have my grace, it means my opinion of sex is fake?"

Groaning, that sounded wrong. But wasn't that was he was just implying? "I'm just saying that if you were human again, we wouldn't be having this problem."

"Exactly," Cas bites out, crossly. "I'm not human, I'm an angel. And unless you want me without consent, then we won't be exchanging handies, blowies, or any sexual acts."

"You can’t be like this, Cas. It doesn't make sense, you've had sex with me, that means that somewhere deep down the desire is still there. I didn't take advantage of you, Cas. Human-you was more than willing. Hell, he initiated it." He doubles down, then adding some insecurities, "Besides, if you knew you'd only like me as a human, why did you even jump me? Surely you're not that selfish. Giving me everything I've ever wanted just to tear out of my life, leaving a walking corpse behind."

"I never meant to hurt you, Dean." His voice almost sounds human, but there's still that wrongness to it Dean had never noticed before now. It sounded artificial.

"You knew you'd be repulsed by me when you found your grace?" Dean reiterated the question.

Castiel sighs, "Not repulsed. Just not enticed."

"I hate you," He says, shaking his head so fast dizziness washes over him. "I fucking despise you, Castiel. How could you be so selfish?"

"Stop, please. I can't bear to hear you say that," Cas sounds broken, "I didn't expect to get my grace back. I didn't mean to be selfish. I just wanted you, it was human and new. It was like breathing fresh air for the first time. But now, I'm perfectly content. Dean, I didn't mean to—"

"To what?" Dean shuffled from one foot to the other, anything to regain the warmth he had lost, "To lead me on? Well, I've got bad news for you. We were so sickeningly in love that I want to vomit thinking about it. That's more than leading a guy on, Cas. That's being in a relationship, and then leaving because you're scared. You can try and pass it off as nothing, but you can't bullshit the biggest bullshitter."

"No, you're right. We were very much in love," Cas looks away, then refocuses his hardest glare on Dean, "But it doesn't change the fact; I don't want you."

Everything feels dead, his brain and body both falling into paralyzes. They're in some bumfuck town in God-knows-where, having put a spirit to rest. And Cas doesn't want him. Dean's bare feet feel warm in the tangerine yarn carpet, the only part of his body that isn't freezing from Castiel's icy stare, cool attitude, and the accidental winter breeze. The door is still open, from when Cas had tried to escape, and all the nice heated air is being swapped out for chilly jack-frost-appropriate wind. He knows his nose is red, probably running too because he can't ever look presentable for Castiel. In the morning he might even have a cold. And Cas doesn't want him. 

"Okay, I believe you." Dean snapped, suddenly crying. He feels guilty, then feels annoyed he feels guilty. "I just don't understand why we're breaking up."

"It would never work out," Cas says, wistfully. 

Dean sniffs, his chin trembling, "I still love you and you still love me. We can make it work. I won't bring up sex ever again if you would just stay with me."

"You have needs, Dean," Cas reminds, passive. "You have urges that I won't be able to fulfill."

"I don't give a rats-ass about that," Dean cries. God, this is pathetic. Hopefully, Sam will get back soon and put him out of his misery. But Sammy doesn't even know about them, so the thought of Sam coming home early to witness this fight makes anxiety live in his stomach. "I only want you to be with me. Sex is a sacrifice I'm willing to give. Anything to still be able to love you in the morning. Anything to be able to tug your hair in my hands. I know we weren't perfect Castiel, but to me, we were better than perfect."

"We were pretty destructive, Dean. Never telling each other anything, bottling up emotions. If you want to akin our liaison to perfection, know it was on the opposite end of the spectrum."

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Dean says, drying his eyes.

"Sex is a sacrifice for you. I won't make you give it up to be with me," Cas begins to leave again, noticing Dean trailing after him again. "Don't follow me, Dean. We need to both reflect before we see each other again. I will see you again, and it will be like the last year never happened. Sam will never find out, so don't worry."

"Fuck you," Dean slams the door in his face. 

He's craving a beer, anything to help lower his inhibitions and worry less about the angel coming to meet up with them, but it's probably not a good idea. First of all, it's four in the afternoon and second Dean's burger from earlier was revisiting him with vengeance. The thing sat like a bowling ball in the pit of his stomach, probably coated in so much grease it won't digest. They've headed back to the motel, awaiting developing evidence the mortician was going to call about. But regarding what this monster is, Cas is their only hope now, his theory their last resort. And if talking to Cas for thirty short seconds could help him save another girl from drowning, he'd gladly talk the angel's ear off. 

"When's Cas meant to get here?" Dean finally asks, shooting a glance over at Sam. 

Since they'd arrived back at the motel, Sam had had his face buried in more historical literature about North Carolina. "Less than an hour when I talked to him."

"So probably thirty minutes?" Dean shivered, a horde of spark plugs in his stomach. "I'm going for a walk. Be back in half an hour."

"What's your problem, Dean?" Sam places his book on the table, concerned. "I really want to know why you're so fucking upset at Cas you're leaving the motel."

"I don't want to talk about it, Sam." Dean says, "Drop it."

"I just don't get it, Dean. I just don't get why you push people away when they—. Never mind.”

Morbid curiosity gets the better of him. “When they what?”

“When they get close to you.” Sam waits, expression firm, tense like he’s ready for a fight.  

Embarrassment flushes his skin, he has to say something but nothing comes to him that isn't too personal. "I, uh, I just can't be around when he gets here.  _Please_ , Sammy."

"Just—" Sam looks defeated, "—please be safe. I don't want your brooding man pain to become actual pain." 

Dean stands up, pulling on his jacket and grabbing his wallet. He hadn't switched out of the monkey suit yet, in case they needed to go back to the morgue or police department before dark. Stepping out onto the main street, Dean instantly felt  _welcome_. There were about fifty various shops, ranging from bookstores to smoke shops. He shoves his hands in his front pockets, walking down the street and absorbing all the rich beauty this small little town had to offer. He did stop in front of a lot of stores, never having enough guts to go inside and interact with these hospitable people, strictly sticking to window shopping.

Drooling, he stares longingly into a bakery. The sugary smell escaping the shop every time someone opens the door. Maybe one slice of their freshly baked pie wouldn't hurt, he's watching it release steam right now through the window. There's no question of its freshness. He glances at the tiny name slate; [Avocado pie](http://food.fnr.sndimg.com/content/dam/images/food/fullset/2010/3/3/1/FNM_040110-Only-In-007_s4x3.jpg.rend.hgtvcom.616.462.suffix/1371591000052.jpeg),  _today's special_. Dean looks at in disgust, why the fuck avocado had become the hottest new super fruit he would never understand, especially when Sam brought them home by the pounds.

"Smells delicious, right?" A modulated voice says beside him, "Maybe it's just the pregnancy nose, but I'm saying this is the best smelling bakery, like, ever. It's heavenly."

Glancing next to him he sees a petite redhead with a watermelon-sized bump under her shirt.  

He tries to sound like a normal person and not like he's on the brink of a breakdown because he's about to see Cas again. "Heaven doesn't come close."

Her face lights up like a candle, holding out her hand for a shake, "My names Jody Harper but my friends call me Harp."

"Nice to meet you, Harp." He shakes her hand back, palms clammy from their rest in his pocket. "My names—"

"Special agent Dean Ford," She concludes, laughs at his bewilderment and winking at him. "It's a small town and when supermodelesque feds start walking around, people gossip."

He rubs the back of his neck, clumsily, "So  _this_  is what it's like to be a celebrity."

She laughs, a bit shyly, "Actually, I'm with the Sylva Harold, the local newspaper. I was just wondering if you wanted to make an official statement."

He pretended to look outraged. "I've only just got famous and suddenly everyone wants a piece of me."

Her eyes go dreamy, "I'm surprised, someone as handsome as you must be used to all this attention."

Dean tosses her an easy wink, comfortable with the flirting. She's a  _cute_  pregnant lady. "So what's this about a statement? You know anything about the case?"

"Yes," Suddenly serious, she settles a hand over her belly, "I've been researching this ever since Candice drown. My aunt was one of the first women that died. You know about that? The police are trying to say it's not connected, but the evidence is pretty glaring."

"We know there's some kind of pattern," Dean says, looking down at her stomach, "Like how pregnant women are being targeted."

"What about the fact that every drowning happened on a Thursday?" She asks, disdainfully. "This is the work of a serial killer. Whether it's a copycat or a child picking up where their parent left off, we have a murderer on our hands and the sheriff is acting like these girls putting themselves in a watery grave."

"The sheriff, huh?" He didn't really like that guy, and it wouldn't be the first time the law was covering up something supernatural.

She huffs, "I don't know how that idiot got elected. He doesn't do shit when anyone in that church of his gets in trouble. Really biased."

"Well, if this is happening every Thursday then I'll need to go to the lake tomorrow," He said, watching the panic spring onto her face, "Unless there's something else you want to tell me."

Feebly, "No one's going to be there without bait."

"You want to lure the killer out with your pregnant ass, possibly risking your baby?" 

"If you and your partner come along, I know I'll be safe," She rationalizes, "I just can't sit off to the side while this  _creep_  kills another one of my family."

And Dean understands. Because if there's one thing he gets its revenge.  _Hell_ , twenty-five years of his life were consumed by it.

Of course, Cas's ugly ass car comes rolling down the street. His cheeks are flushed pink from the icy wind and all of his windows are down. He sees Dean and waves, pulling into the closest empty parking spot. He fumbles around in his wallet, stepping out of the continental and shoving a coin in the meter. Dean can feel the angry tears leaking from the corners of his eyes— he could probably pass it off on allergies, but  _fuck_  it's embarrassing to be so hung up on Cas. And the closer Cas walks, the more he begins to realize how much he can't do this.

Now, that he's seeing Castiel, he notices how he never got used to the cold. He once stood in blizzards, hunting for wendigo and rugaru with John Winchester barking even colder orders down his back. This, however, is the coldest he's ever felt. Just looking at Cas's beautiful face; eyes gloriously intense, mouth curved in a breathtaking smile, and inhumanly perfect skin with no blemishes, Dean could only stare at him like an idiot. He couldn't imagine how an angel could be as magnificent.

"Hello," Cas says politely, nodding at Harp and then Dean. "How are you, Dean?"

"Peachy," He replies.

She looks at Cas dubiously, "Is this your partner?"

The words make him flinch.  _God yes,_  he wants to say. "Not anymore."

It feels wrong to stand here with Cas, casually talking like the last six months didn't happen. Like they never broke up. Cas looks at him like he's a stranger. Like they've never touched each other, seen each other vulnerable, held each other as they fell asleep. After all they had, they act like they were practically strangers.

He tries to remember the good times; they’re in bed together, Castiel's hands resting on his naked body, sliding down his back and gripping his hips. Cas's long fingers twitch for a lingering moment, hesitating over his nipples. He rolls over, Castiel's gentle touch rubs his back, slipping into the cleft of his ass. The first time they had sex was the happiest moment of his life, it felt like completion.

But now their bodies, although only a foot between them, feel worlds apart. 

They're just staring at each other, he realizes. And the air in his lungs gets sucked out,  _pushed out_ , like he fell on his back and his diaphragm seizures. 

"See you tomorrow, Dean. Eight o'clock," Harp touches his wrist lightly as she goes, giving him a flirty smile. 

How could she not feel the tension between them? It was like a live wire.

Cas stares pointedly at the spot, enough to make him squirm. Is Cas jealous? Maybe he's disappointed. "What?"

"I didn't say anything," Cas shrugs, clinical and robotic. 

"I'm not—" He cuts himself off, setting his jaw. "Why do you care?  _You_ broke up with  _me.”_

"I don't care," Cas says, with all the air of finality, stomping over to his continental. "I'm leaving."

"Like you always do," Dean grouses.

Cas blinks, hand paused on the door handle. "I'm leaving and going to the motel room."

Shame curls in his chest, obviously Cas wouldn't just leave without helping them on the hunt. "It's about a block from here, up on the right. Room four."

"Yes, I know. Sam gave very detailed directions," Castiel meets his eyes, opening the door and sliding in. "I'll see you there."

Once Cas had pulled away, nausea swirled unrestrained in Dean's abdomen. After all this time, his feelings haven't faded. 

Walking back to the motel gives time for Dean to think. Castiel pulled Dean out of hell, he rebelled against heaven, he fought with Dean in purgatory, he helped cure Dean when he was a demon, he gave up an entire army of angels instead of killing Dean, he was there for Sam when he removed the mark of Cain, and he let Lucifer into the batter's box to defeat Amara. Cas has been there for them time and time again, and just because Dean is butt hurt over a break up doesn't mean he needs to shun one of the only friends he and Sammy got.

Cas is his foundation, he's the most stable thing in Dean's life. And Dean needs to suck up his feelings, as painful as that might be, and treat Cas like with a little reverence. 

He pauses his hold on the doorknob, flexes his hands; they looked and felt rough with calluses.

Sam speaks as soon as he walks through the door, "You were right, Jane was pregnant."

"Fuckin' knew it," Dean grunts, shifting uncomfortably in the FBI threads, he realizes he's in urgent need of a shower. "That Sheriff doesn't know anything. Narrow-minded bastard."

Cas is standing in the corner, stiffly, "I believe I know what this creature is."

"What is it?" Dean asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"It's called a [Nøkk](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSF864NaAfM2FdjDvxjX2RpaNpa_hLDbrhs5OfEDAf4lH-fouP8)," Cas says, the last word sounding garbled in his graveled voice. "They prey on pregnant women and unbaptized children."

"Well," Sam looks convinced, "That would explain the one orphan that died."

"What the fuck is a nook?" Dean asks, less persuaded. 

"A  _Nøkk_ ," Castiel corrects, "is a water spirit that lures the vulnerable into lakes and streams with music. They're of Swedish heritage, and habitually, take their victims on Thursdays."

"That fits pretty closely with the information we already have," Sam bites his lip, flipping open his laptop, "Especially the Swedish part. Maybe one of the immigrants brought it over." 

"And every one of the drownings happened on a Thursday," Dean chimes in.

Sam looks at him, inquisitive, "How did you figure that out?"

"I ran into a local when I went out," Dean says, exultant, "She's a reporter for the town newspaper and really has a good idea of this entire case." 

"Yes,  _that's_  why you were talking to her," Cas says, cutting. 

"What did you say, Cas?" Dean crosses his arms, nose wrinkled.

"I'm sure the reason you're meeting up with her tomorrow is strictly business," Cas remarks sardonically.

Sam groans, exasperated, "Did you have to cruise for a hookup? For once, can't we skip that part?"

Offended, "I'm not some slut, guys. She just wanted to go to the lake, _since she's pregnant_ , and help us catch the monster."

"You told her there was a monster?" Sam states, flatly. 

Scoffing, "I'm not stupid, Sasquatch. She thinks it's a serial killer. But, since she's the only pregnant person we know, we could use the bait."

"I don't know," Sam considers, slowly. "I mean, she's a civilian."

"I'll make sure she doesn't get hurt," Cas pipes up, more benign than before. "Without her help, we might not be able to lure out the Nøkk. She's very brave."

"Damn straight," Dean agreed, flopping down on the bed. He looks over at the clock, "It's almost seven. We should try and find ways to kill this thing."

He glances over at their duffle bag full of weapons, everything they brought supposedly for a mermaid. 

Sam nods, turning his laptop around, "One step ahead of you."

Squinting at the screen, Castiel reads off, “When malicious nøkker attempted to carry off people, they could be defeated by calling their name; this, in fact, would be the death of them."

"So we need to find out this fuckers name? Like some Rumpelstiltskin type shit?" Dean asks, frowning. How does knowing its name kill it? He shakes his head, not satisfied. "Why does that seem too easy? Isn't there some kind of knife or blood-soaked tree branch?"

"On the contrary," Cas says, leaning back with a glower, "Magic surrounding the name is extremely powerful."

"So how do we find out its name?" Sam asks, typing expertly on the keyboard. "Cas? You know anything?"

"We could trick it," Cas suggests, then slumps, "Although I have no clue how to do that. Maybe if Gabriel were still here."

"Can't you just smite it with your angel powers?" Dean asks, sullen. "What’s the point of having them if you're always limp?"

"Dean," Sam warns, click-clacking away, "No fighting, please."

Cas clears his throat, abashed, "I could smite it. But such exertion would weaken me significantly. I'd rather find an alternative."

"What’s the point of having your grace if you can't even use it?" He repeats, anger slotting into the statement.

His knuckles turned white from clenching his fist too hard, everything besides Castiel's remorseful face began to fade. He pivots on his heel, not able to look at the gorgeous angel a second longer. A grimy blind dangles in front of the sole window, half of the slats turned wrong or missing completely, looking like it had not been dusted in a century. With all the restraint he could muster, he shifts his attention to Sam before he starts throwing punches he'll regret later.

But Cas replies, "The point is that without my grace I feel incomplete."

"Oh, so all those months without your grace meant nothing?" Dean responds through gritted teeth. 

"I use to be aliferous," Castiel is trying to remain calm but his fists clench, "But now that we aren't fu—, hmph, like we were when I was human, I'm useless to you."

"Pretty much, buddy," Dean jumps down his throat, seething and provoked. 

"Hey," Sam disrupts, pointing to the door, "Both of you; outside. Now."

"What? It's below fifty degrees. I'll get sick, Gigantor." Dean laments, hands on his hips.

"Go," Sam says, stringently. "You're not allowed back in until you've talked. We don't need tension during the hunt. Alright?"

They mope out of the room, properly scolded. Since when did Sammy become their mom? Dean grumbled to himself, standing still and biting the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t know what kind of deep and meaningful conversation Sam is expecting him and Cas to have here, but he’s sure as hell not having it. Mostly because it's difficult to even think about.

Cas shuts the door behind him, leaning against the side of the building and raising his eyebrows. Dean rakes his hand through his hair, trying not to pace. Dean tried to concentrate on anything besides Castiel's lean, artistic, and rugged face. His hair is thick and wavy, short from the haircut Dean gave him. The faint light made his eyes look a darker blue.  _God_ , Dean could stare at him all day.

"What are we supposed to be talking about?" Cas asked, his hips were jutting out from his sensuous stance. 

"You know how Sam is, always sticking his nose where it doesn't belong." Shivering and teeth chattered, Dean looked down at his feet.

Cas notices, shrugging off his trench coat and holding it out, "Here, like you said, it's freezing out here. Put on my coat."

Something jumps in his stomach, his hiraeth evaporating, pulling on the familiar trench coat and being covered in Castiel's wonderful smell and warmth. 

"Thanks, Cas."

"My pleasure, Dean."

It feels bitter-sweet. Like a plethora of shattered bones, sliced with a rusty knife skin, and an overabundance of yellowish-black bruises. 

His throat seizes up.

Because Castiel  _left_. He didn't stay with Dean, didn't try to make it work. Castiel fucked away to God knows where. He thinks about the feeling of Castiel's fingers, soft yet firm, and holds out his hand for Cas. When the angel tentatively slips his hand into Dean's, he breaks. That tiny string of willpower that was holding him together snaps with a resounding echo, chest heaving at the implication. 

Dean decisively says, numb, "I can't stop loving you."

"Dean—" Cas starts, then pauses.

He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, a weight lifting off his chest. He repeats, more courageously, "I can't stop loving you. Cas, I think about you all the time." 

Castiel swallows audibly, unusual for an angel who doesn't need to produce spit. "This— fuck, I really don't want to do this. I'm not strong enough for this conversation."

"You're not a coward," Dean murmurs, squeezing the angels hand in reassurance. "If you can say yes to Lucifer, rebel against the God squad, and survive pathetic humanity, I'm positive you can talk to me about our breakup. I just want you to entertain me first, okay? Because last time, you didn't listen. You broke things off and didn't give me time to explain why you shouldn't. And I've got reasons, Cas. One of those being; I can't stop loving you."

"Sam's right inside the door," Cas warns. "He'll hear everything your saying."

Chuckling, wonder at Castiel's crummy scare tactics, "I don't give a fuck about that. I'll come out to Sam ten times over if you'll stay with me."

That surprised Castiel, the shock making his eyebrows lift and his jaw to go slack. "Are you serious, Dean? Are you really ready to share that part of yourself with your brother?"

An uneasy seize ran through his body, "I won't lie, Cas, you're the only person I'm really comfortable talking about this with. But if it means I can keep you, I'm not holding back. I'll sing it from the rooftops, I'll do a little dance, anything embarrassing and totally chick-flick just to call you mine."

They're both very still.

Sam opens the door, breaking the moment, "I found something."

A sick feeling starts to descend into his chest, like a cough or hiccup rippling in his lungs. Sam forced them out here to talk, then before they could properly settle things he drags them back inside. Fucking Sasquatch, no sense or tact at all. He wonders if the nerd was eavesdropping too, wouldn't be the first time.

Awkwardly they go back inside, Cas frowning, "What did you find? Another way to kill it?"

"If you run into a Näcken, you may try to break his spell by throwing a piece of steel into the water between him and yourself." Sam reads, holding up a steel chain and a hand full of nails. He gestures towards their duffle bag of weapons, "We're loaded with steel. If we can't gank him by saying his name, we can try and circle the lake with steel. It might be like a salt line for ghosts. Or devils trap for demons."

"Well," Dean responds, "That's helpful."

"It is," Sam agrees, then continues, "Also, I found that if you bring a Näcken an offering of three drops of blood, a black animal, some vodka he'll be in your debt. You just have to drop it into the water and see if he accepts the gifts."

"Time to go to the pound," Dean grins, grabbing a change of clothes. Normal clothes, not the monkey suits. "I'm sure they'll have a black cat or something."

Sam nods, "You and Cas go to the pet shop in town, behind the fast food joint. I'll head to the closest ABC store. Hopefully, they'll have Swedish vodka."

A horn honks outside, startling them.

They all stand frozen, until Castiel goes over to the window, peaking through the damaged blinds and making a face.

"It appears the police are here," He says tightly, "And a young deputy is making his way to our door. He's thinking very loudly."

Dean suddenly remembers Antonio, his joyful face at the mortuary. He curses. "I have to go with him to Jane Moss's church. I promised him."

"We don't need him now," Sam says dismissively, "We know what the monster is and we're going to bait it tomorrow."

A knock on the door and Dean scrunches his nose, looking at Cas questioningly, "You said he was thinking loudly. What about?"

"He admires you," Cas replies, distant, "He would be devastated if you didn't follow through."

Sam groans, running a hand through his loose hair, "Fine. Dean can go hang out with his twink, but we need to get prepared."

"I'll go with them," Cas says quickly, avoiding Dean's stare. "After the service, we can go to the pet store."

The knocking picks up again, more vigorous this time. Dean schools his expression and nods, "Alright. Let's do this."

Sam rolls his eyes, curing under the covers and pretending to be sick.

When he opens the door, Antonio is standing outside with a toothy grin. Holding a bible tightly in his grip, he immediately thrusts it into Dean's chest and rubs the back of his neck. Dean allows himself to scope out the kid's outfit, just to see how much they would stand out, tight khaki pants and a plaid button up. His thick black hair gelled back into a wet looking pompadour. He looks down at his fed clothes and sighs, wanting to change out of them pronto but now stuck in them for the rest of the night. Then Cas steps next to him, pressing close and it shorts every thought in Dean's head.

"Hello, Agent Ford." A demure little smile on Antonio's face, then he turns wary as he meets Castiel's hard eyes. "I'm here to pick you up. And your partner."

"Sam won't be coming," Dean gestures towards the bed where Sam coughing weakly. "It's just me and my, um,  _friend_. Name's Cas."

He holds out his hand for Cas, sunny demeanor waning. "Nice to meet you. Are you with the FBI, too?"

"Yes," Cas replies, coolly, shaking the kid's hand too tightly. When their grip breaks, Antonio flexes his fingers. "Different department."

Dean looks down at the bible Antonio gave him, it's beautiful and leather,  _KJV_  etched down the spine. "Thanks for letting me borrow this."

"You can have it," Antonio susurruses with a bashful smile, dimpling adorably. He nods towards the car, "We better get going, the drive is twenty-minutes."

Staring at the squad car in trepidation, Dean asks, "Can we take my car?"

"Sure," Antonio answers easily, then adding cheekily, "but I call dibs on shotgun."

Cas looks ready to argue, but Dean silences him with a pleading look. Fiddling with the keys in his pocket and closing the motel door behind him, Dean smiles at the familiarity of the steering wheel beneath his fingers and fiddles with the radio until he settles on a channel playing the least offensive pop trash music. He catches Cas's unhappy expression as he climbs into the backseat.

They pull onto the road, and Dean begins the trek to the church. Looking off into the distance he spotted the mountains, they clustered together like they were cold, which he wouldn't have doubted considering the abysmal temperature. It seems like the more the sun sets the more like Antarctica it becomes, almost below freezing at this point. He wonders it if could snow in November in this little southern town. As the Impala's engine sung to the solitary country roads, Dean became aware of the tension budding in the small space.

Cas leans forward, resting his chin on the corner of Dean's seat; his cheek brushing against Dean's. 

The drive is absolute hell, with Cas's face a breath away from his and Antonio sneaking a glance his way every chance he gets.

They pull into a freaky side road, right off the pavement and onto the gravel. Like marbles under the Impala's tires. There are huge trees looming over the entrance, hanging across the road like a canopy full of gloomy leaves. The sign next to the driveway says  _Don't let worries kill you, let the church help_. He shudders in time to the creepy message.

The parking lot is full, Dean doesn't know whether its because the lot is so small or the assembly is so big. He looks out the window and frowns at the group loitering in front of the church entrance. Mostly men, the sheriff is there with cowboy boots and a fleece button up shirt. He turns off the engine and grabs the bible he had put on the dash. It feels heavy in his hold. This was going to be hell. Castiel is the first to exit, Dean second. They need to stick together. He doesn't notice until then that Castiel had his trench coat in the Impala. Walking in front of him, Dean studies the angles of his shoulder blades and sighs.

Antonio catches up to them, face engulfed by teeth as he smiles. "Church starts in a few. The men usually chat outside while the women set up the offering."

The word  _offering_  makes him twitch. Usually, it means devil worshipers— or demons in their case. Castiel doesn't seem worried, so it must mean something else. The church bell rings just as they get to the doors, and everyone starts to pile into the tiny building. Dean grabs Castiel's hand so they won't get separated and Antonio grabs his suit tail. The congregation is a mixture of old ladies with turtlenecks and men with beards and cowboy boots; they're all past their prime and indisputably white. 

They sit near the back, next to a woman. Dean squints at her and blinks. "Harp?"

"Hey," She grins at him, a hand rested on her protruding stomach. "How are you doing, agent Ford?"

"Good. What are you doing here?" He asks as they all sit down. The voices in the room hushed to a low rumble. 

She leans forward, nodding toward Antonio who has grown suspiciously quiet, "He's the father, if you believe it, Maury Povich."

"No shit," Dean exclaimed, quickly lowering his head in embarrassment as two older ladies give him the stink eye. "So you come here to be with your boyfriend? Just today you went on about how the sheriff was biased and the church was crazy."

"We're not together," She throws out, lowering her voice for just Dan to hear. "But I'm living off a small town reporter’s salary with a kid on the way. These religious people  _are_  crazy but they offered to help pay for all my hospital visits and set up insurance accounts for the baby if I tried with Antonio. They were really pissed when they found out we had sex out of marriage, but my being a girl softened the blow. If I have to tough my way through a few church services and pretend to patch things up with Antonio, then I'll baptize myself."

"I'm Cas, we met today," Cas reaches out to shake her hand. He doesn't look mad at her anymore.

She smiles at him, "Well, of course, I remember you. A handsome face like that."

The pastor walks up on stage then, clapping his hands and speaking with a harsh southern accent. His hands are wrinkly. A sheen of sweat perspiring on his forehead, he pulls a white handkerchief from his back pocket and wipes it off. Dean is instantly on guard. He's got a bad feeling about the old man like suddenly he had spidey senses and this pastor was imminent danger. Maybe it's just because he knows the bastard is racist. Either way, he leans his body fully into Cas as a half-assed attempt to calm down.

"Welcome everybody, new faces, and our usual suspects," The words made the congregation laugh good-naturedly. "Now, first I'd like to say I appreciate all the good words and kindness I've received this past week. Jane was the light of my life, my perfect little girl, and to lose her so quickly was never in my mind. But God always has a plan and we must know that her leaving doesn't mean she'll be gone forever. I'll see her in the next life and I hope the rest of you will too."

Castiel leans over to whisper into his ear, "Jane Moss won't be sharing a heaven with her father. She'll be sharing it with her soul mate, Brad Sims."

"I wish we could tell him that," Dean whispers back. "The racist dick. I bet Jane is glad she's away from him."

"Tonight's message might be a little controversial, but what the good Lord gives me to preach is always controversial to those who don't believe. Get your bibles out and turn to first Corinthians, chapter six, verse nine. We're going to be reading the writings of Paul. Paul was one of many disciples of Jesus who continued teaching the good news after the resurrection. These chapter's we're going to read are the letter's Paul wrote to the churches, who had let sin infiltrate their congregation. Now, if we're all ready, stand and join me for the reading of God's word."

Everyone stood up, abruptly. Dean quickly flipped through the bible, trying to find first Corinthians before the pastor started reading. Castiel reached over and turned exactly to the right page. Dean huffed.  _The damn overachiever_. The preacher read verses nine and ten: Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.

"Now, let's dig a little deeper into this passage. In these verses, Paul describes the different kinds of people who will be excluded from the kingdom of God. One of the words he uses is effeminate. What does effeminate mean? Paul was alluding to homosexuality. In some other translations, it actually says homosexuality. Some might try and argue that being queer is okay. Now, God loves you no matter what. But he hates your sin. Paul is very clear here, homosexually leads people to destruction. You won't enter heaven if you practice it. Marriage is between a man and a woman, and I'm ashamed to be living in a country where it's praised for two men to be so blatantly together." 

 Harp lets out an angry scoff. Under her breath, "What a load of bullshit."

"We've got two homosexuals in our church right now. Holding hands and flaunting it. I won't call them out, but know that there is salvation for you."

Dean uncomfortably lowers his head. He knows without a doubt that this is directed towards Cas and him. He hadn't even realized they'd been holding hands. They started because Dean didn't want to lose Castiel in the mass of people and then they just kept holding on. He's properly chastised. It's like his dad is standing right in front of him. Castiel squeezes his hand reassuringly.

“God created each of us male and female, each for the other. And the only variety of marriage God ordains is when a husband and wife come together in physical union, one flesh.”

The pastor starts to ramble with more hatred when Harp stands up. "No."

Everyone freezes.

An eyebrow quirked, "No?" 

"I usually sit here and keep quiet about how hypocritical and disgusting you are, but I can't keep it in anymore. This entire time you've been bashing Dean and Cas, throwing them under the bus and humiliating them. How dare you belittle them like that? You think you're being coy by not mentioning them by name, but it's pretty obvious who you’re talking about," Harp says, scathingly. She points at Antonio, "Your own family is gay and you treat him like he's incompetent. Where does the abuse stop?"

"Antonio is not gay." The sheriff speaks from the side. "He's just confused."

"No, your nephew  _is_  homosexual. He only fornicated with Jody Harper because he believed it would help him get over his fantasies of men. It didn't work." Castiel talks. A voice like gravel. "And if you think that's wrong then you're missing the entire point of God. Our heavenly father isn't for hate, our faith isn't about sin, and this religion shouldn't be about worshiping a divinity you haven't seen in two thousand years. God is a concept. The real father you all seek to please is gone, and now we're free of his final plan. We have free will. I hope you all learn to accept those who are different, for their race and sexuality and anything that you deem immoral."

Dean sucks in a sharp breath. Castiel remains like a statue. The pastor speaks, "I'd like for the two FBI agents to leave."

"They didn't do anything wrong," Harp argues, but the sheriff has murder in his eyes.

"Get them faggots the hell outta our church!" The sheriff yelled, grabbing Antonio by the arm. Dean and Cas bolted, hands locked together until they reach the Impala. 

"We need to get out of here before they come after us with pitchforks," Dean says, out of breath. They're safely inside the Impala's cabin. He laughs a little bit. Then breaks down. Laughing and crying. Both at the same time. He almost expects Castiel to reach over and grab his hand again, but the angel is pressed as far away from Dean's body as possible. Practically melted against the door. Dean clenches his fists in his lap. "I think what you said was pretty badass, Cas. Pretty righteous."

"It was the truth," Castiel says, softly. "I felt closer to my father simply holding your hand, than listening to what was said in that church."

The words light a fire in him. They'll never have sex again, Dean recognizes, but that won't stop him from loving Castiel. Castiel is his best friend. He just wishes that Cas felt the same. Dean's about to respond when he sees a bunch of people crowding out of the church, he spins his tires as they get out of there. AC/DC blasting on the radio and Dean slamming his hands on the wheel to the music. "Let's go get that bad luck!"

Sneaking into the pet shop is difficult, the owner finally leaves after thirty minutes of waiting but he enables the door security system. They can't pick the lock.

When Dean shimmies through the impossibly tight window, hoisted up under Castiel's firm but agile hold, he lands on his left shoulder.

Dean often prized himself in ignoring pain and just rocking on regardless, but that wasn't possible between the surely fractured shoulder blade and Castiel standing over him in scattered worry. Castiel wrapped his arms tightly around Dean's body, like a hug, grace heating and healing him. He lets the tears flow.  _Goddamnit_. Here in his arms, it was so easy to fantasize that Cas wanted him. He let himself pretend this wasn't just for healing.

"I can't stop loving you either," Cas says, out of the blue. "It's indisputable and unconditional."

Dean stared at Castiel, dumbfounded. "What?"

"But it doesn't mean anything, Dean," Cas seems miserable, "I still stand by my decision. I just thought you'd appreciate the honesty."

Pain, and not from his mended shoulder, "I'd rather think you didn't want me. This  _honestly_  is worse, because you're doing what you think is right, and that means not being with me."

Cas whispers, "You have to let that all go, Dean. The way I kissed you, the way I smelled, the way I touched your body with the tenderness no one else has given you and pulled you in for lovemaking. You have to let all of that go and you have to let me go too. Because that's all who I was, not who I am. Being in that church with you by my side, I felt untouchable. But we can never be like we were."

There are, funnily enough, no black cats. 

They grab a gerbil.

"Winchester's car vanished from the lot."

"We've lost them, then," Henriksen says, astonished. "They'll go into hiding and won't come back until the case is closed."

Reidy looks at him, dejected. "I'm sorry, babe. I'll tell the boss there was nothing you could've done. He'll understand. This won't reflect badly on you."

"I don't give a shit about that," Henriksen ground out, "I just want justice."

A whooshing sound, then a hand grips his shoulder. He sees three shocked faces before he disappears.

Henriksen sees Winchester's inexorable face.

"What's going on?" He slurs, stomach flopping and he vomits. He hadn't eaten today so it's just clear bile, with swirls of brown coffee.

Winchester has the decency to look apologetic, "Yeah, teleporting can make you sick. Sorry, man."

He looks over at the woman holding the sickle, dread filling his veins as she gives him a steady stare. 

"Who is she?" He asks voice crackling, his hands and feet feel paralyzed.

Winchester ignores him, walking over to the woman and shaking her gloved hand. "Thanks for the bailout.  _Again_. I really can't believe you came."

"Well," The woman grins, stepping towards Henriksen and he feels chills explode on his skin. "I'm not making a habit of it. This is the last time, Dean. Try not to get yourself in these situations. Your pet angel can't fly anymore and I'd rather not be known as the Winchester's valet."

Then she vanishes. The room instantly feels more alive. Henriksen lets out a breath, his lungs feel free. "What's going on?"

"I guess I should explain," Winchester half-smiles. "Starting with the reason we, Sam and I, never die. That badass woman, she's Death. Like, the Grim Reaper or the horseman. And we've always had Death on our side, apparently, we're important to the universe or something. She hasn't really explained. Just know, that if you shoot me right now, I'll most likely come back because Billy is sentimental like that."

"Okay," Henriksen says adamantly, staggering his fugitive. "I'm officially having a nervous breakdown. Stress from the case, no doubt. Valente was right, I'm too involved."

Winchester grimaces, "Well, sorry to say, you're not crazy. This is real and you need to believe me. And in a few moments, an angel is going to pick us up."

Henriksen can't handle it, having the wool pulled back from his eyes. Angels were real. Which meant God,  _theoretically_ , was real. "I'm going to throw up again."

 

Waking up is hard, especially after that fall he did last night. His shoulder is numb, no discomfort but it feels like there should be. Castiel didn't heal him right.  

No one talks the entire morning, eating granola bars and drinking Propel enhanced water, apparently, Dean and Castiel are still hung up over their conversation at the pet shop last night. Sam, who has grown up with Dean and knows his cues, also doesn't bother speaking. Dean could care less, he's just relieved he doesn't have to wear the monkey suit anymore.

They're back at the lake in no time, Dean holding the steel chain tightly in his hand and some cutlery in his pockets. Sam carried the vodka and the animal, face pinched as they step out of the Impala. Cas resides by the lakeside, impassible with his angel blade. The water gushed noisily, like a running faucet, yet remaining unnaturally tranquil.

A pale yellow Ford Fiesta spins on the gravel as it pulls next to Dean, Harp waving at them through the windshield. Antonio is in the passenger's seat.

"Howdy," She approaches, holding securely onto the deputy’s hand. "I'm ready for our stakeout."

Dean looks at Antonio, uncertain, "Does your uncle know you're here?"

"He doesn't," Antonio says quickly, looking at Harp with ease, "I just figured Harp was going to come here with or without me, and as much as an asshole I was for just sitting by while my family bulldozed over us, I can't let her or our baby get hurt. I figured this might be the first step in mending our friendship. Stepping up to the batter's box. I just want to be the type of man she and our daughter will be proud of."

Harp smiles softly at him, then at Dean, "We'll have to name her Deanna or Cassie."

Moved, Dean just looks away. Not use to such heartfelt comments. "Don't worry, I'll make sure nothing happens to your daughter."

Castiel speaks, holding his angel blade. "Dean, maybe we should fill them in. Before the nøkk gets here."

"The what now?" Harp asks, fast. She is such a reporter.

Sam explains, fumbling around, "Well, we're not actually FBI. I mean, we're here to catch a monster but it's not a human monster. Okay? I can see your both confused. Um, I'm doing the talk now. Everything you know is a lie. Okay, maybe that was a bit too much. Don't be scared. Cas, it would be very helpful if you gave them a light display or something angelic."

Dean laughs as Castiel begrudgingly lets his eyes flare supernaturally blue and cast weird shadows on his tattered wings. Harp and Antonio gasp.

"Are you—" Antonio breaks off, getting down on his knees and bowing. "I'm so sorry."

"Please stop," Castiel says awkwardly. "I don't deserve such worship.”

"Yeah, you do," Dean says before he can think about it. He blushes and looks away when everyone stares at him.

"So you're an angel," Harp says, eyes wide with childlike wonder. "And the serial killer isn't human?"

"Exactly," Sam says enthusiastically. "It's a monster. Now, we know this might change your mind on being bait but we would really be grateful if you could just stand next to the water. Castiel will watch out for you. He'll make sure you don't get pulled in. We just need the monster to be distracted for Dean and me to gank it. Is that okay?"

Harp laughs, grinning with a hand over her stomach. "I'm totally blown away. But yeah, just because the bastard isn't human means I'm pussy-ing out. The thing still killed my family and I'm going to make sure it suffers."

Dean knew he liked her for a reason. Antonio looks scared out of his wits, but he manages to say, "My previous statement stands."

Sam smiles at them, "Okay, now we wait."

Then the sun hid behind the clouds.

The center of the lake's surface broke as a glistening body shot out of the deep. Chills began to plummet down Dean’s plummet arms, back, and legs. If he thought the water was petrifying, the unsullied form of the Näcken felt like pure horror. Harp steps dangerously close to the edge, anger ripe on her face as he glares at the monster. The Näcken looks at her with hunger— then sees Dean and the entire script flips. Suddenly he feels light-headed, and the hungry look waxed into ravenous.

"[Du är som frisk luft.](Du%20%C3%A4r%20som%20frisk%20luft.)" He looks at Dean, ignoring Harp completely, his concupiscence indisputable, "[Du är som solsken på en regnig dag.](Du%20%C3%A4r%20som%20solsken%20p%C3%A5%20en%20regnig%20dag.)"

Dean feels his cheeks heat up, unable to look away from the flawless face. "Is that Swedish? What did he say?"

"Nothing remarkable," Cas grunts from beside him, he's holding the angel blade out threateningly. "[Varför lockar du honom och inte henne?](Varf%C3%B6r%20lockar%20du%20honom%20och%20inte%20henne?)"

 _Whoa_ , Dean thinks, the Swedish sounding awkward and garbled leaving Castiel's mouth. Still, it was unmistakably hot.

"[Han är vacker.](Han%20%C3%A4r%20vacker.)" He slowly creeps closer to Dean, eyes sparkling from a deep green to a vibrant blue. His blonde hair turning a dark brown, starting at the roots and magically transforming all the way to the tips. The closer he gets to Dean, the faster his violin plays, a melody so beautiful and perfect that Dean's eyes start watering. "[Den gravida doften lockade mig, men hans skönhet är oemotståndlig.](Den%20gravida%20doften%20lockade%20mig,%20men%20hans%20sk%C3%B6nhet%20%C3%A4r%20oemotst%C3%A5ndlig.)"

The chain he's holding falls to the ground in his lax grip, and he involuntarily walks closer to the water's edge. Cas looks murderous. "[Frigivning honom nu.](Frigivning%20honom%20nu.)"

"[Varför skulle jag?](Varf%C3%B6r%20skulle%20jag?)" The Nøkk looked predatory, his gaze never leaving Dean's. "[Du förtjänar inte honom, och han är mycket svars-. Jag ska tycka om känslan av hans hud mot mig, när jag tar honom.](Du%20f%C3%B6rtj%C3%A4nar%20inte%20honom,%20och%20han%20%C3%A4r%20mycket%20svars-.%20Jag%20ska%20tycka%20om%20k%C3%A4nslan%20av%20hans%20hud%20mot%20mig,%20n%C3%A4r%20jag%20tar%20honom.)"

Sam scoots closer, shattering the overwrought atmosphere, gerbil wiggling around in his hold. "Tell him we want to trade. I've got vodka, the black animal, and the three drops of blood behind my skin."

"[Förstår du engelska?](F%C3%B6rst%C3%A5r%20du%20engelska?)" Cas asks, gesturing towards Sam, "[Förstod du vad han sa?](F%C3%B6rstod%20du%20vad%20han%20sa?)"

The Nøkk smugly smiles, lips plumping into a scarily familiar mold. Dean suddenly realizes, he was looking more and more like Castiel with each passing second. "[Ja gjorde jag. Och jag är inte upplagd för handel. Jag skulle ta hellre gröna ögon och tjänstledigheter. Som jag kan göra lätt.](Ja%20gjorde%20jag.%20Och%20jag%20%C3%A4r%20inte%20upplagd%20f%C3%B6r%20handel.%20Jag%20skulle%20ta%20hellre%20gr%C3%B6na%20%C3%B6gon%20och%20tj%C3%A4nstledigheter.%20Som%20jag%20kan%20g%C3%B6ra%20l%C3%A4tt.)"

He's close enough to touch the water now, only a couple feet from the monster. The violin screeches loudly as he pulls the bow awkwardly across the strings. Everyone, besides Dean, lets out a cry and tries to cover their ears. That's when the Nøkk attacks. He grabs Dean's bum shoulder and  _yanks_.

Dean can hear the screams as he encounters the water's surface. Harp's is the loudest. But Castiel shouts his name like a prayer.

The water envelops him as closely as his own skin.

In the films, drowning is loud and splashy. It's full of yelling and waving arms, sinking below the water's surface and coming up in a climactic feat while those on shore scramble to rescue. For Dean, as someone who is currently drowning, that portrayal is total bullshit. When he was swaddled by the dark indigo body of water, there was no splashing or thrashing. Only the strong grip of the nøkk, pulling him further into the deep. 

Red and black discolorations twirl in front of him and he can’t remember if his eyes were open or not. This is oxygen deprivation, he realizes, his head pulsating like a beating heart. As soon as he can’t hold his breath anymore, the cold water rushes in and begins to fill his chest. It burns. Logically, it would feel unpleasant for something so heavy to push into your lungs, but for some reason, it doesn’t hurt like he thought it would. The nøkk held him with a cold caress. 

He's to the point where he's passing out. And really, in some tired way, he accepts that. Death wasn't kind, Dean knew that from experience, but this was inconsistent.

 

 

"So wait," Henriksen interrupts, face scrunched up. "How the hell did you survive? You're acting like you died but you're standing right here?"

Winchester groaned, exasperated, "I was getting there. God. So, after the nøkk pulled me under, he went back up to get Cas. I don't know why, maybe because Cas is full of angel juice. Anyway, I was drowning on the bottom of the lake and the nøkk turned into me to seduce Castiel so he would step into the water. Creepy lullaby with his violin and naked me from about ten years ago. And since Castiel can't get it up, he pretended that the sight of me and the violin was sending him into a trance. He got close enough to stab the fucker in the neck with his angel blade. Badass right?"

"So the angel killed the monster?" Henriksen asks, then, "How did you get out? Your brother?"

"Well, I don't remember much. I'm pretty sure it was the deputy, though."

"Then what happened?"

Winchester quirked his mouth, "I was pretty out of it. Coughing up water and all that. Cas held me the entire way back to the motel. Isn't that great? I was kind of bummed to figure out that Cas hadn’t fell charmed by my body on the nøkk, but his lack of erection did end up saving us. Anyway, everything was back to normal. The monster was dead, Castiel was pretty touchy, and I was alive."

"What else?" Henriksen eggs on.

"Then that asshole of a sheriff tattled on us to the actual feds. We only knew because Harp was nice enough to stop by our hotel. I hightailed us the fuck out of there. We cut through Haywood County to whole up for a night and made a pit stop on the way out of dodge because Baby was hungry. I had to leave Sam and Cas at a gas station when the cops recognized me. I sped through a few stop lights and was arrested. And I guess you know the rest."

Rumbling sounds outside the building. Winchester perks up, especially when his younger brother and the angel come crashing inside. They both wrap him in a tight hug. The angel lingering for a beat longer. Henriksen watches with a fascination. The younger Winchester, Samuel, comes over to him and reaches out to shake his hand. A little hesitant, Henriksen watched the tapes of this man murdering people, he squeezes the man’s palm. That wasn't this man. It was a shapeshifter. A leviathan, if what the older Winchester said is true.

"Thanks for everything, dude," Samuel says, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. "For listening to him and not freaking out."

"I did freak out. It just didn't last long when I figured out the logistics." Henriksen says, glancing over to where Winchester and Novak are embracing. "Are they, um, together? I mean, they seem close." 

Samuel nods, looking at his brother too. "They think they're so sneaky. I heard the entire make up, hugging and whispering like twelve-year-old girls, right before Dean was arrested. I've been trying to get him to talk about it for the past few months after they broke up. Really loud by the way. I came back to the motel and the door was wide open. Figured it out when Castiel got the door slammed in his face. It was pretty hard to pretend to be clueless, but I wanted him to come out on his own terms y'know?"

He didn't know, but he wasn't going to ruin the moment. "How the hell am I going to explain this to my team?"

"You did disappear right in front of them, right?" Samuel suggests, "Maybe it won't be hard. Just be truthful."

Henriksen gives Samuel a pat on his shoulder. "I just want to say thank you. For doing everything you guys do. Your brother explained everything and I really admire you both. It was hard to imagine that I wasn't chasing after criminals bur actually superheroes. It seems like a thankless job, so I just want you to know that I'm very grateful for everything you do. If you or your brother ever need anything, don't hesitate to call me.

"Thanks, man," Samuel gives him a smile. "And I just want to say thanks for not being weird about Dean and Cas."

"I'm not homophobic. And those two clearly care for each other," Henriksen says, looking back over to Winchester and Novak. Their faces pressed into each other's necks. 

Samuel nods, looking at the two of them with fondness. "I guess them hugging in front of me is Dean's official unofficial way of telling me."

 

"I'm sorry," Castiel whispers into his ear. 

Dean breaths in the familiar scent of Castiel's shampoo, the citrus smell still evident from when they took their last shower together. Dean feels the stink of tears gathering in his eyes. “It’s okay, baby. Cas, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I just didn’t want to tie you down. Be a paperweight.” Castiel pulls back, eyes red. Was Cas about to cry too? “Be somebody you felt you had to stay with just because of our history or because of an obligation.”

“God, Cas. You’re not an obligation. You’re the goddamn love of my life.” Dean chokes out.

“I love you more.” Cas smiles.

Dean’s breathe hitches, “I love you most.”

“I love you more than that.” A single tear runs down his cheek, Dean reaches up and touches it. “My first tear as an angel again. For you.”

Sniffing, “If there’s one thing I learned in school, is that you can’t have more than most. I love you most.”

“And I love you more than that.”

Dean feels the wetness of his waterworks spilling down his face. He throws his thumb over his shoulder, “Let’s go tell the dork about us.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel asks, timid.

Grinning through the crying, “Now that you’re mine again, I'd want to tell anyone. I wasted the opportunity last time because I was scared. Who the fuck cared what those homophobic assholes think? What hunters think? What my dad would’ve thought? When we were at the church the other day, it all clicked. I’m not going to let them dictate my life. I love you and from now on everyone around me is going to know that.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Castiel says, pulling him back in.

They enfold into each other. “I love you most.”

“I love you more.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dalliance means a brief romantic or sexual relationship.
> 
> Dean and Cas love each other, but Castiel just can't believe that Dean is able to love without attaching sex to it. So, as an asexual character, Castiel breaks off the relationship. Here’s the part that might make asexual's uncomfortable; when they first get together, Castiel is human and experiences sexual attraction. As soon as Castiel gets his grace back and becomes an angel again, his want for sex disappears. He still loves Dean, but he is repulsed by sex. Dean tries to tell him that sex doesn't matter, but Castiel won't listen. We see several sex scenes as flashbacks in the story, but it all ends with Dean and Castiel excepting each other for who they truly are.
> 
> All the information about this town is true. Sylva, North Carolina is a real place. (Excluding the monster of the week portion's history, that was completely made up!) This all came into being when I was writing my huge 50k+fic and randomly picked a place from the map to have a small blurb for a scene. When researching, I actually fell in love with the cute little community. Sylva, North Carolina has really shown me the joys and beauties of small-town-USA. I really urge anyone to go on a road trip to the sweet mountain town, it might be small but the history is mind-blowing.
> 
> As far as the town legends and information that only locals would know, I actually contacted a few people living in the area to get a greater feel for authenticity sake. I'll be thanking them personally, but here are their names as formal contributors; Mary Lovedahl, Joyce Lovedahl, and Mark Queen. If it wasn't for these people, I might not have gotten such an in-depth look at the wonderful inhabitants. Thank you for your generosity and picking up my phone calls and answering my emails all throughout the day. I couldn't have done it without you! (In reality, they'll never see this.)
> 
> I'd also like to mention, that this story isn't strictly canon. And by that, I mean that the boy's contact with FBI and police has been changed around a bit. Victor Henriksen never died or even met the boy's in the first place, and I've used other minor characters to fill in some O/C roles. Also, this story wasn't set anytime, in particular, just know they're all in the bunker and they're not watching out for Lucifer/Amara/British MOL (Those three might be mentioned, but they aren't the main bad guy for once.); anytime between 11-13 could apply.
> 
> If you're on mobile and can't see the Swedish translations: 
> 
> "Du är som frisk luft." You are like fresh air.
> 
> "Du är som solsken på en regnig dag." You are like sunshine on a rainy day.
> 
> "Varför lockar du honom och inte henne?" Why do you tempt him and not her?
> 
> "Han är vacker." He is beautiful.
> 
> "Den gravida doften lockade mig, men hans skönhet är oemotståndlig." The pregnant scent tempted me, but his beauty is irresistible.
> 
> "Frigivning honom nu." Free him now!
> 
> "Varför skulle jag?" Why should I?
> 
> "Du förtjänar inte honom, och han är mycket svars-. Jag ska tycka om känslan av hans hud mot mig, när jag tar honom." You do not own him and he is very responsive. I will enjoy the feeling of his skin against mine when I take him.
> 
> "Förstår du engelska?" Do you understand English?
> 
> "Förstod du vad han sa?" Do you understand what he said?
> 
> "Ja gjorde jag. Och jag är inte upplagd för handel. Jag skulle ta hellre gröna ögon och tjänstledigheter. Som jag kan göra lätt." Yes I did. And I am not in the mood for trade. I would rather take green eyes and leave. As I can do easily.
> 
> (If you want to message me any prompts or just talk, my twitter is @ImpalaLostiel - I might even tweet about future fics!)
> 
> Comment, kudos, and bookmark! I appreciate the feedback.


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